


The Same Old Song (sing it again for me)

by hereticlion



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Fictional Religion & Theology, Lyrium Addiction, Lyrium Withdrawal, M/M, Religious Content, Slow Build, characters with different roles, dragon age style racism, inquisitor!cullen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-03-14 12:06:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 35,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3409997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hereticlion/pseuds/hereticlion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen is more than happy to make an appearance at the conclave at Seeker Pentaghast's request. How was he supposed to know that a simple favour would change his life forever?</p><p>AKA The Cullen as Inquisitor AU I have been thinking about for some time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. green

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I've been picking at for a little while now. Full disclosure though, I am shit at updates. I can't promise them regularly, but I will try. Anyways, enjoy :) Comments/kudos/etc are always welcome and encouraged.

 

It was not that he didn't want to be here. Of course he wanted to be here. The invitation from Seeker Pentaghast had been the final push he needed to free himself from the Order for good, to cast aside that life in favour of his own. Cullen knew Cassandra’s (and Leliana’s) true intent with this makeshift army; to raise that ancient banner once more and see the Most Holy’s will be done. He would aid them however he could.

And so yes, he wanted to be here. He just wished he could be inspecting their fledgling forces instead of playing errand boy to the conclave.

 _No, that’s unfair_ , he thought as he moved through the cavernous hallways of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, _This is important. I will have my time soon enough._

The Seeker had approached him very shortly after his arrival in Haven with a request. Cullen had been a man held in high regard within the Templar Order before he left, or so people told him anyways, a reputation that supposedly remained untarnished since he had distanced himself from the fighting. He was to go as a representative of their independent party, to gauge the state of his former fellows and perhaps even recruit those who could see reason. Lelianna had also given him a letter, secretly away from the Seeker’s keen eye, entrusting him to deliver it to the Divine’s own hand.

And so was his present course. A meeting had been arranged fairly easily, when the Chantry realized who he was and whom he was representing. Who could deny the collective wills of the Right and Left hands? Cullen would pay his respects, hand off the letter and express their intentions. He suspects that last part is unnecessary as this is likely all moving according to Justinia’s whims, but he knows the importance of appearance and ceremony. He was a templar, after all.

 _Ex-templar,_ he reminds himself _, You are no longer shackled the that Fate. You have left it behind._

Well, most of it. There are some things that you can’t be rid of completely, things that cling to your bones like slavering dogs in the night. Cullen is keenly reminded of this when he rounds a corner and comes face to face with a sharp reminder of where he had come from.

“Cullen. I’d heard you were skulking around here somewhere.”

A slow grin crept over the other man’s face. He looked almost healthy again, eyes sharp and alert as they raked over his own appearance. Cullen tensed, hand moving toward his hip before he realized that he was unarmed. His fingers flexed against the empty space.

“Samson.”

The other man chuckled as he crossed his arms over his mailed chest. The sigil of the order gleamed in the lowlight of the wall sconces, a stark reminder of their shared history. Cullen was the one who had given Samson this second chance, at the recommendation of The Champion. Once a disgrace, a dust-addled beggar, he had proven his worth in that final battle against Meredith. Cullen thought him a good man once. Perhaps he was ready to do that once more.

“I’d heard you ran back to Fereldan,” he said, “That you’d abandoned the Order after that shit show in Kirkwall. Can’t say I’d blame you, what with everything that happened.”

Samson had been one of the first to go when the templars were called to hunt down mages, gone in the night with dozens of others. Cullen had carried on as best he could and not spared those men and women much thought; too much to do, so many to help.

“I have left, yes,” he replied cautiously, “I did not abandon. I certainly did not run off to start a war.”

“Come on now Rutherford, don’t be like that. S’not like I went and started anything personally. I was just following orders.”

“Whose orders?”

 _Certainly not mine_ , he thought but kept to himself. If he was honest with himself he could admit that it had wounded his pride a little that so many had shirked his command without so much as a word.

Samson chuckled again, rolling his shoulders in an exaggerated display. “Oh, is that hurt feelings I sense there? Don’t take it so personal. You were probably better off without me there anyways, digging out corpses and putting blankets over orphans wasn’t exactly my cup of tea.”

“And running off to murder innocent people was more to your liking?”

“Don’t get so high and mighty with me Cullen, I know the things you’ve done. Our hands’ll both be red til the day we die, no mistake. There will always be a leash, always orders, doesn’t matter where you go.”

“There doesn’t have to be.”

Cullen was determined to be his own person again. It would be a hard road - Samson himself had been proof of what happened when the lyrium was cut off - but he had faith. Perhaps not so unwaveringly in himself, but certainly the Maker would guide his way. If he could do this, then others could as well. Maybe even Samson could once again be his own man (with the right guidance this time - not on his own in the gutters of Kirkwall.)

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

He’s not certain that of all people Samson would be the best to sway, but he chose to believe that there was indeed good in this man. He had seen it himself, he had known it, even in the times when he was not.

“Surely you have heard of the group gathering at Haven. Under Seeker Pentaghast and Sister Nightingale? I have cut ties with the Order personally, but there are a number of Templars who have joined us in this cause as well. Those disillusioned with the endless fighting, those who remember their purpose.”

Samson scowled at him, brow furrowed with deep creases. “You’ve thrown yourself in with that lot?”

“My time in Kirkwall was done, as was my time in the Order. Seeker Pentaghast offered me a position as Commander of their forces, such as they are. Should this conclave fail, chaos will surely erupt, and we cannot sit idle whilst the mages and templars tear Thedas from it’s stitches. I knew you to be a good man once Samson, despite what either of us have done. You would be welcome, if you have a mind to help people instead of slaughter them.”

The other man looked somewhat dumbstruck by Cullen’s words.

“They call them heretics,” he said, “Whispers about blasphemy and all that trash. I don’t give a nug’s filthy shit hole about the Chantry and their lies after the things they’ve done, but they hold all the power. You think that little group would stand up to an assault from them? Even if they convinced half of the templars to march for them they’d over run you in a blink.”

He knew that there were rumblings of discontent about their activities. People said the Seeker and the Nightingale overstepped themselves, that the Divine could not possibly allow them to run rampant and unchecked with their own little army. But those were whisperings and rumors. Surely the Chantry would not take arms against them, not when there was so much fighting in Fereldan and Orlais already.

“Let us hope it does not come to that then. If this conclave is successful -”

“It won’t be.”

Cullen balked for a moment at Samson’s interruption. He sounded so certain.

“How can you say that? Surely there is hope here when both sides are willing to speak?”

The frown on Samson’s face speaks volumes. “When did you become such an optimist Rutherford? It hasn’t been that long since Kirkwall, has it? Oh well, doesn’t matter I suppose. I’ve kept you long enough and I’ve shit of my own to deal with.” Samson took a step forward, the sound of his armor clattering around them, and clapped Cullen on the shoulder with one gauntlet-clad hand. “Was good to see you again. No hard feelings, ya?”

There was something incredibly off about this entire exchange but for the life of him Cullen could not put his finger on what it was. So he nodded and even managed a smile despite the sinking feeling in his gut.

“No hard feelings.”

There was a nearly imperceptible squeeze to his shoulder before the hand slid away. Cullen stood there for several minutes, listening to the sounds of finely polished armor get faint with distance. Should he have pushed harder? There was a lot left unsaid and now he felt like he had missed an opportunity.

_Samson will make his own decisions. He always does._

Cullen is renewed in his purpose. He has made a decision too, after all, and he will see it through. Perhaps if they prove themselves, if he proves himself, then people will see the truth in their goal.

And he carried on. Down the hall, around yet more corners, until some time later when he finally located the private rooms where the Divine herself was cloistered away from the gathered masses.

Cullen is left to wonder why there were so few guards here.

In fact, he had not seen anyone for some stretch now.

What was that sound, just now? Voices. Shouting.

“Someone help me!”

Cullen was running. A great set of wooden doors sat closed at the end of the hallway, and from underneath a sickly green light seeps toward him. Without thought or hesitation he charged forward, kicking the door open with his heavy boots.

“What’s going on here?”

Grey Wardens. The Divine. A creature so monstrous that Cullen could not think to describe in words. By the Maker, what was happening here? There was shouting and movement; Justinia used the distraction to knock something out of the creature’s clawed hands. It rolled towards him and instinctively he reached to pick it up.

Green. Green, everything was green and pain and he couldn’t let go. He screamed and screamed and could not let go as something coursed through his skin and his blood and everything was green. That thing is rushing at him but all Cullen could do was sink to his knees as light flooded the room and seared away his vision.

Everything was green and Cullen Rutherford collapsed upon himself.

 

+++


	2. a hole in the sky (and one in your memory)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen wakes up to a reality that he could never have imagined, and the full on wrath of Cassandra Pentaghast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your support so far. It's motivated me to keep writing ~

Cullen woke to a sharp pain in his hand and heat in his blood.

It was a concentrated effort on his part to open his eyes, and for several harrowing minutes his vision would not focus. He blinked rapidly, shaking his head in an attempt to set himself right; all he managed to do was intiate some dizziness. When he tried to bring his hands to his face, Cullen realized that something else was amiss.

Heavy irons encircled his wrists, restricted by a short length of chain.

He was a prisoner? Why? He could not remember. His armour was gone, he realized, and he was down to sturdy leather trousers and a roughspun tunic. The world slowly returned to focus, still hazy around the edges but now he could at least make out his surroundings. He was in a small room, one lone candle flickering dim light across the stone of the floor. This was familiar to him, a place he had been before.

_Haven. One of the holding cells._

But that couldn’t be right. He was supposed to be at the conclave. He remembered being there. Walking the halls … he was to meet with the Divine. But then it all cuts out, a blank space where he knew a memory should be. Something was very wrong.

Cullen shifted and glanced down at his right hand; a steady pain throbbed uncomfortably under his skin. As he turned his palm upwards he could not stop the cry of alarm that forced its way from him as a burst of green magical energy flared to life. It crackled and burned, momentarily illuminating the entire room in a noxious glow. Cullen thought he might be sick right then and there.

He knew magic when he saw it, when he felt it, and though it was unlike anything he had ever seen in his time as a templar it’s nature was unmistakable. But this could not be possible. Cullen was no mage, he should not be spewing out magic in such a way. As panic began to well in his chest the door burst open, momentarily flooding the room with harsh daylight before it was abruptly slammed shut once more.

Cassandra Pentaghast stood above him with all the righteous fury of a hurricane.

“What is the meaning of this?” she snarled, “Tell me why you have done this?”

Why was she so angry? What in the Maker’s name was going on here?

“I … what’s happening? What is -”

Steel whistled sharp and high as Cassandra drew her blade; it came to rest at Cullen’s throat.

“Give me a single reason not to kill you. The conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except for _you_ , Cullen. You, who attended on our behalf! Was this all some ruse? Did you seek to use our good will for some hidden Templar agenda? You have _ruined everything_.”

Dead? No.That couldn’t be right. He felt nauseous all over again.

The tip of the sword pressed a little tighter against the soft skin under his chin, a hair away from drawing blood. He stilled, daring not to do anything except breathe.

“Answer me, damn you! Why did you kill Divine Justinia?”

The Divine was dead as well? Maker help them all.

“You think I did that?” his voice was hoarse, “You think I killed the Divine and all those people?”

Cassandra withdrew her weapon, but no sooner had she resheathed it then she was reaching to grab him by the arm. Her grip was like a vice as she forcibly held his own hand in front of him. Cullen felt that sickly magic flare up again and he couldn’t help but stare, transfixed, at his own monstrous palm.

“Explain this,” she demands, “How is it a templar can wield this kind of magic?”

He can’t. He doesn’t know what it is or how it got there. Slowly he shakes his head and tells her as much; Cassandra did not look satisfied with his answer.

“You’re lying!” she snapped and she lunged at him with murder in her eyes. “You traitorous snake! I should cut your head from your miserable neck -”

Leliana was suddenly there, grabbing Cassandra by the shoulder and pulling her back.

“We need him, don’t be rash. The Commander may be the only one who can help us now.”

The Seeker made a disgusted noise as she stepped backwards. “You are right Leliana. Of course you are right, even if I don’t like it. But do not call him that; the soldiers will not follow him, nor would I ask them to. Cullen Rutherford cannot be our Commander, not after this.”

She won’t even look at him. Cullen thought that perhaps he had just lost something profound, something that would not be easily replaced. Cassandra had been the one to approach him, to bring him out here to Haven and their cause. Now she was prepared to discard him all together and he doesn’t even know why.

_What have I done?_

“Do you remember anything of what happened?” Leliana asked hesitantly, “Do you know what caused the explosion?”

Explosion? He definitely did not remember anything about an explosion. But if what they were saying was true, that he was the sole survivor of something so catastrophic, then he was beginning to see why Cassandra wanted him dead. He took a breath and tried again to remember. He was walking down halls. Endless hallways it seemed like. And there was someone he talked to. Someone he knew, but he can’t find a face. And green. He remembers the colour green; it’s the same as that mark on his hand. And then he was running and there was a light. Someone was reaching out for him …

“Argh, I don’t know,” he growled, frustrated that he can’t remember anything more concrete to save his own life, “There are just little flashes of things. It’s like the memories were there but now they are gone.”

He explained the things he could recall but neither woman seemed to be mollified. They pulled back toward the door and exchanged some quiet words that Cullen could not make out. Leliana glanced at him before turning away and slipping back outside, leaving him alone with the angry Seeker. Would she make good on her threat and kill him right there?

“Get up,” she spits at him, “On your feet Rutherford. Now.”

Cullen managed to stand after only a few failed attempts. He was still shaky and disoriented from whatever had happened, but he could not show weakness now. Cassandra watched him like a hawk, hand firmly on the hilt of her sword.

“Please, Cassandra, I didn’t -”

“Do not speak to me. I would not hear any more lies you have to tell, not after you have betrayed our trust. Now move, you will see your work with your own eyes.”

A retort sat on the tip of his tongue but Cullen swallowed it back. He could proclaim his innocence all he wanted, but she would not believe him. Not right now, at any rate. Instead he nodded his head and shuffled behind her as she lead him out into the daylight. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust again to the brightness, but as he blinked against the sunlight he realized that there was something wrong.

The sky was wrong.

“Do you see that, Rutherford?” she said his name like it left a bad taste in her mouth, “Do you see what you have done?”

There, just over the mountain where he knew the Temple of Sacred Ashes to be - or to have once been, it seemed - the sky was ablaze with magic. Even from this distance he could feel it’s pull on him; his hand ached and spasmed. Cullen stood, jaw slack, as he took in the entirety of this hole in the sky.

“We call it the Breach,” Cassandra spoke without looking at him, “It’s a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger by the hour. Scouts report other such rifts opening elsewhere, but this is by far the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the conclave.”

“An explosion can cause all of that?”

She turned, glaring at him. “You tell me Rutherford. That mark on your hand bears the same magic as the Breach. Each time it expands, the mark spreads. And it is killing you.”

As if to illustrate her point, the hole in the sky spews forth a discharge of energy and so does his hand. Cullen crumpled to his knees as he choked out a strangled cry. Maker it hurt so much, like fire and lead in his blood all at once. Cassandra grabbed him by his shirtsleeves and hauled him back to his feet.

“That mark may be the key to stopping this, that is the only reason I allow you to live right now. If the Breach is allowed to expand unchecked then it could swallow the world, and we will not stand by and let that happen.”

“I understand,” Cullen said, resignation settling in his tone, “I did not do this, Cassandra, not willingly at any rate. But I will help you in whatever way I can.”

Alive by fluke, continuing out of obligation. Cullen knows this circumstance well. Cassandra looked at him over her shoulder and for a brief hopeful moment he thought he could see her expression soften. It was gone almost immediately, and then she was shoving him forward once more.

“Walk, Rutherford. We have work to do.”

+++

“Curly! Long time no see.”

A crossbow bolt goes flying past his face, impaling the demon that had been rushing his flank. Varric Tethras - of course it had to be Varric - grinned at him and gave a thumbs up before taking aim at another. Cullen shook his head and gripped his found sword in his blood soaked hand. He was lucky that Cassandra had allowed him to keep it, though he suspected that despite her threats she would do all she could to keep him alive.

They needed that mark after all.

As the last of the demons were cut down, the elven apostate - Cullen could not remember his name, but he did remember seeing him at Haven when he had first arrived - grabbed his wrist and pointed him at the smaller rift before them.

“Quickly, before more of them come through!”

The mark seemed to react immediately. It was a strange sensation, to feel magic in him as it poured from his fist, pulling at the rift. His legs began to buckle, but the elf held him up as the rift collapsed upon itself. It was gone, just like that. His hand sparked but was otherwise calm. Cullen looked at the other man, eyes wild and breathing hard.

“What was that? What did you do?”

The mage released his grip and took a step back, a pleasant smile on his face. “I did nothing, the credit is yours.”

Cullen flexed his fingers and glared down at his own hand. He doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want any of this.

“It was this .... thing.”

“Correct. Whatever magic caused the Breach to open also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized that your mark would be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach’s wake, and it seems that I was correct.”

There was an air of vague smugness about the elf, no doubt pleased that his theories held water.

“Could it be used to close the Breach?” Cassandra asked as she wiped demon blood from her sword.

The elf shrugged and pursed his lips. “Perhaps. The Breach is quite large, as is plain to those with eyes to see, and the mark itself may not be enough. We will see if the Commander is up to the task.”

“He is no longer Commander,” Cassandra replied tersely, “He has forfeited that title with his treachery.”

“Come on now Seeker, don’t be like that,” Varric interjected, coming up to Cullen’s side and slapping him on the elbow, “Curly here is a good man, you know that. He helped us out in Kirkwall when it mattered and he’s done more to help that city than most. You invited him here yourself, didn’t you?”

Cullen was somewhat shocked. He did not expect one of Hawke’s people, especially not the dwarf, to give his praises so easily. He had not known Varric well at all during his time in Kirkwall, only exchanging a handful of words at most.

“I did, and it was a foolish mistake. I believed in his claims, that he wanted a clean break from the Order, to do something better with his life. Now I know it was all lies. He is a Templar spy, sent to destroy the conclave and kill the Divine.”

“Maker’s breath Cassandra, that’s ridiculous!” Cullen snapped, frustrated over his presumed guilt, “I am no longer a Templar and I am certainly no spy!”

The air was tense. Cassandra, full of fury and conviction, narrowed a look so cutting at him that Cullen could almost feel it tear into his face.

“What am I to think? That this was some strange coincidence? That you just happened to survive when so many good people have perished. Justinia herself was destroyed and yet you, a Templar who arrived that very day, walked away. And now you have this … abomination marked in your skin. Forgive me, Rutherford, if I am not jumping to sing your praises.”

She huffed through her nose at him and turned away, stalking forward along the sloping mountain bank.

“Ouch,” Varric whistled low, almost under his breath, “She’s pretty ticked off at you, Curly. I guess I can see why, but … if it makes you feel any better I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt.”

“As am I,” the elf added, noticeably unruffled by the Seeker’s outburst, “That magic you wield, I have never seen anything like that in all my time. And given that you are a Templar you should not be able to use any magic at all. A curious thing.”

“I don’t know if that’s the word I would use to describe it,” Varric said, a grin returning to his face.

“Perhaps not. Ah, but I have been rude. We have not been properly introduced. I am Solas and I am pleased to see you recovered.”

“What Chuckles here means is ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept’.”

“Thank you, Solas. It seems I would owe you a debt.”

Solas waved a hand at him. “That is not necessary Cullen. Thanks enough will come if you manage to close the Breach without killing yourself in the process.”

“Enough standing about,” Cassandra called from ahead, clearly impatient, “We must move quickly to the forward camp.”

The elf nods at him, a sympathetic squint to his eyes, and moved to follow the Seeker. She was right of course, they needed to get to the Breach. Cullen had resigned himself to his Fate, desperate to prove his innocence. If sacrificing himself was the means to that end, so be it.

Varric reached up to pat him on the arm again before moving forward.

“Well, Bianca’s excited.”

 


	3. the temple of sacred ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen makes his was to the breach. Cassandra remains angry. Red Lyrium is bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow look at all these timely updates. Who knew I had it in me ~
> 
> Also you should bother me on tumblr about this because i want to talk about dragon age forever. inquisitorbird.tumblr.com

“As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry I hereby order you to take this criminal to Val Royeaux to face execution!”

Cullen feared for a moment that Cassandra would agree to the request. The look of consideration on her face is enough to give him pause.

“You presume to order me, Roderick? You are nothing more than a glorified bureaucrat.”

“And you are little more than a thug, but one who supposedly serves the Chantry. Would you not see this traitor hanged for his crimes?”

“I would,” she replied bluntly, and even Roderick looked surprised, “But we cannot let him go just yet. We need that mark to seal the Breach and he is the only one who can do it. That is the priority. We may be able to stop this before it is too late.”

“How? Our position is failing Seeker, we don’t have the numbers to keep the demons at bay and our forces are directionless. Even with every soldier you could not make it to the Temple in time.”

“We must try.”

Cassandra Pentaghast’s conviction is nothing short of tremendous.

Cullen, despite his instincts telling him not to, stepped forward to stand beside her; Cassandra bristled but said nothing.

“We should take the most direct route. If this mark is to do any good before it kills me then we must make haste.”

“You brought this upon us,” the Chancellor sneered at him, “This doom is your legacy, Templar.”

“And I will not survive it long enough to see an execution date. Whatever we do, we do it now. I will see it through, no matter your opinion on my character.”

The matter is settled. Cassandra instructed Leliana to gather all that remained of their forces and to meet them in the valley while Roderick sputtered and cursed their brazen foolishness. Varric and Solas readily agreed to continue along with him, despite half hearted protests from the Seeker; she knows that she needs them - even Varric, who winked at her and made some comment about how well they worked together.

Cullen can feel the eyes of all the gathered soldiers on him. Angry. Fearful. Curious. Some openly scowled at him, vague threats muttered under breaths just loud enough for him to hear. The hatred in the air is palpable and it makes him feel sick.

 _You should be used to it_ , he thought, _Plenty of people hate the Order. You’ve had this before._

No, not like this. Not this intensely personal.

After a brief rest to replenish supplies and take a breath, Cassandra ordered them forward again. Cullen is grateful to get away from the searing gazes of those who would see him hang for a crime he cannot remember committing.

“Templar.”

Chancellor Roderick called to him. More than anyone else, save perhaps Cassandra, he wears his contempt openly and proudly.

“If you survive this I will make it my mission to see you answer for this atrocity. You have taken away the only hope we had at ending this war, you have destroyed the greatest symbol of hope the world knew. Those I have known and loved as Sisters and Brothers reduced to ashes. They will be avenged.”

Cullen could only nod once before turning away.

+++

The stench was overpowering. Corpses everywhere, charred and stiff, expressions of terror still evident on the ruins of their faces. Fires burned in the snow despite the cold and the wind. A chill that had nothing to do with the temperature crept down Cullen’s spine.

The Temple of Sacred Ashes. Or what was left of it, anyways

He tried to remember, but his mind was still the same frustrating blank it had been. His feet crunch in the snow and the rubble and the other bits that he preferred not to think about.

“This is where they found you,” Solas remarked as they took in the destruction.

Cassandra nodded stiffly. “Yes. Right here, they say, is where you walked out of the Fade.”

Walked out of the Fade. He walked out of the Fade? Maker’s breath, why had no one mentioned this to him before?

“I walked out of the Fade?” he asked, incredulous, “How is that possible? I couldn’t have been physically in the Fade.”

“I would not have believed it either, except our soldiers witnessed it first hand. They say after you stepped out there was a light. And a woman behind you, though they don’t know who she was. You collapsed and she was gone.”

Cullen felt his chest constricting.

“And you didn’t think it was important to tell me this?”

“Do not raise your voice to me, Rutherford. I am simply stating fact. I don’t suppose you could tell us who this woman was or why she was with you in the Fade, or have you conveniently forgotten that as well?”

“There is nothing convenient about this Cassandra.”

Maker how he wished he could remember, if only so he could be certain that he hadn’t done something so despicable. How had he gotten into the Fade? Or out of it, for that matter.

They press forward, deeper into the ruined stonework of the temple and closer toward the Breach. As the group rounded a corner, careful not to disturb the remains that littered the ground, Cullen saw it. A huge rift in the centre of a crater and high above, the swirling eye of the Breach itself. He stared at it, transfixed, barely registering the ache in his hand.

“You’re here!”

Leliana’s voice pulled him out of his reverie as she and a large group of soldiers began to stream into the Temple. Cassandra barked orders at them to take up positions right away.

“Are you sure this is going to work?” Leliana asked, “There is still time to -”

“This must work. That mark has worked on smaller rifts so far, it should work on this one as well.”

“It is a sound theory,” Solas seemed to agree, “That rift there, that is the original I suspect. If Cullen can seal it properly then perhaps the Breach will close as well.”

Cassandra grabbed him by the shoulder, spinning him bodily to face her. Though he is taller than her he felt small under her sharp gaze. The anger is still there, bitterness and hurt, but he also sees purpose and drive. Perhaps even hope.

“This is your chance to do some good. Are you ready?”

Cullen did not think he would ever be ready for something like this.

“I will do all I can. You know this already.”

Perhaps she does. Where he expects some scathing comment, Cassandra simply nodded and released him.

“Let us find a way down then.”

“Good luck Cullen.” Leliana offered him a half smile before running off to coordinate her men.

It took a small amount of effort to navigate through the crumbling architecture, but soon enough their little group was able to find a pathway down. It was just when Cullen had found his footing a great booming voice echoed across the ruins.

**Now is the hour of our victory. Bring forth the Sacrifice.**

He stopped mid step, which cause Varric to collide into his backside.

“What the hell is that?” the dwarf asked, pushing away from Cullen.

“If I were to make a guess, I would say it was the one who created the Breach,” Solas mused; he sounded more fascinated than shocked, and Cullen was beginning to wonder just what it would take to flummox this elf.

Cassandra said nothing, but she was clearly shaken. She glared at him suspiciously though, hand braced ready on the hilt of her blade.

The voice does not continue, and they push forward again cautiously. Something tugged at his mind, something old and familiar. He could not place this feeling until they ducked through an archway and came face to face with something that Cullen had hoped never to see again.

Red lyrium.

Great shards of it jutted from the walls and the floor, glinting in the unhealthy light of the breach. Cullen instinctively took several steps backward; Varric did the same. They shared a look, one of mutual revulsion. He thought of Meredith, her face a mask of horror as red lyrium consumed her flesh. A terrifying end, one he would not wish upon anyone, even one so mad as the Knight Commander.

“What is this doing here?” Varric’s voice was tiny and shaken, “Seeker, you know what this is, right?”

“Yes Varric, I know what it is.”

“But what’s it _doing_ here?”

Cullen tuned out their bickering, all his attention on the crystals before him. It had been a few weeks now since he had stopped taking lyrium and already his body was aching for it. The withdrawal would start kicking in soon, debilitating headaches and pain that he had known others to suffer through. He had planned on asking Seeker Pentaghast to keep watch on him, in case it became too much and he needed to be relieved of duties. That did not seem to matter now as the mark would likely kill him before the lyrium withdrawal would.

It whispered to him, deep in the back of his mind. A soft seductive song that was both familiar and strange. His blood sang for it, his skin ached to feel it. Already he could feel the lessening of his focus, the weakness setting in. It would make him strong again. If only he would be strong again …

“Cullen!”

A hand settled on his shoulder, snapping him back to reality. Solas was looking at him with concern. Varric and Cassandra had already begun to move away, not noticing yet that Cullen was still behind.

“Are you alright Cullen?” he asked, “You should not linger here.”

No he should not. He pushed it down, down to the farthest corner of his mind where the song was quietest. He could not afford to lose himself to this, not when the sky was raining demons on them. This was going to happen often, if he survived this day. Lyrium was not so easily discarded, not when it flowed in your veins and painted your bones.

Solas accepted his silent nod as they followed the others down a gravelly slope towards the rift.

There was something different about this rift. It’s closed, but it’s wrong. As Cullen stepped toward it his mark began to react. Voices again rang through the Temple.

**Someone help me!**

**What’s going on here?**

No. It couldn’t be. That was his voice.

“That was your voice,” Cassandra echoed his thought, “And the Most Holy. She called out to you? Why? What are we hearing?”

“I don’t remember,” he hissed through gritted teeth, trying desperately to recall something. Anything.

Something dark rippled against the rift, images coming into focus. A huge shape lumbered out of the darkness, indistinguishable in form but menacing in purpose. Before him, held aloft by some magical energies, was Divine Justinia. Cassandra gasped beside him, mesmerized by the display.

 **Someone help me!** The image of the Divine repeated, struggling against the bonds that held her.

And then Cullen could only gape as he saw himself appear out of nowhere, rushing to the sound of the plea for aid.

**What’s going on here?**

**Run while you can. Warn them!**

The shapeless horror looked to the phantom Cullen sharply, fires where eyes should be.

**We have an intruder. Kill him. Now!**

The shapes are all engulfed in a light and then they are gone.

“You were there!” Cassandra grabbed him by the collar before he could react, fisting the fabric so tightly that Cullen feared he might choke, “Tell me what you know. What happened to Justinia? Who was this thing that attacked, answer me damn you -”

“Easy, easy, let him go Seeker,” Varric wormed his way between them and managed to pull them apart, “Curly keeps saying he doesn’t remember, so he doesn’t remember.”

“He’s lying, he must be!”

“But we have just seen direct evidence of his innocence, yes?” Solas added, “It seems to me that Cullen was simply coming to the aid of the Divine, and that another was responsible for this tragedy.”

“How can we trust the truth if this vision when he himself claims he cannot remember? This could be some ploy.”

“A pretty elaborate ploy if you ask me,” Varric grumbled.

“No one asked you.”

Solas stepped in once again. “I would trust the validity of what we saw. Memories echo here, the Fade bleeds into this place. This rift is not sealed though it was closed, temporarily. Perhaps that is what’s causing us to experience these visions.”

“What can we do?” Culled asked, ignoring the Seeker’s questioning and focusing on the one thing he could do, “Is there a way to seal it properly?”

“Perhaps, yes. I think the mark could be used to reopen and then seal it. I must warn you though, doing so will attract a lot of attention from the other side.”

“Demons,” Cassandra snarled, drawing her sword. “Forces! Stand at ready.”

The soldiers had grouped into position; archers haunt the ruins above while swordarms clustered around the rift.

“Good luck Curly,” Varric said as he loaded Bianca, “Try not to blow us all up.”

He was uncertain if Varric was making a really poorly timed joke or if it was just a slip of the tongue.

“I will try not to.”

Joke or not, it occurred to him as he stared at the rift that he had no idea what he was doing. Really all he had been doing before this was pointing his hand at things and hoping it worked. Thus far it had been a successful strategy, but this was an entirely different scenario. How would the mark know to ‘open’ instead of ‘close’? He lifts his palm to his face, brow furrowed as he studied the strange green currents running under his skin.

_I’ve spent my life suppressing magic. How am I supposed to know how to use it?_

“Do not overthink it so much Cullen,” Solas stood beside him, staring at the mark over his shoulder, “I will not presume to know your thoughts, but I can only assume that the use of magic is as alien to you as these rifts.”

“You know an awful lot for someone who does not presume,” he couldn’t help but smile a little; Maker this was such an awkward situation.

“So I have been told. Relax yourself. Aim your mark as before and simply think of what you wish to accomplish. The magic should know it’s way from there.”

Just think of what you want it to do. Was magic really such a simple concept? Cullen took a deep breath and thinks of opening a door as he tentatively reaches toward the massive rift. Pain shoots down his arm, familiar at this point, as the magic flows freely. The shards of the rift collapse and expand until it all breaks apart. The consequences are immediate as something shoots from the newly opened tear.

A massive horned demon materializes before them, howling and thrashing with rage.

“TO ARMS!” Cassandra shouted and everything was suddenly in motion.

It’s a bloody battle. More demons come, soldiers fall, but they push on. Electricity crackles in the air as the great beast summoned whips made of lightning itself. Cassandra took the brunt of many of the attacks directly, but she remained stubbornly standing, fighting to her limits. Cullen discovered that the could use his mark to manipulate the rift further, making it pulse to stagger and disorient their foes.

He hacked the head off of a lesser shade before it could lunge at the Seeker, allowing her to strike a decisive blow against the largest of their number. It crumpled to the ground, it’s dying cry echoing through the temple.

“Now, close it!”

Cullen turned, exhausted and bloody, toward the rift. The mark lit up when he raised his hand one more time, willing the rift to shut. It drained him, every last scrap of energy poured toward the sky. The rift shuddered, a strange thing that Cullen felt in his own body, before collapsing on itself. Cullen watched blearily as light shot up towards the Breach, but he did not see what happened.

He collapsed backward into the bloody snow as blackness overtook him, hand still reaching towards the sky.


	4. will of the maker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen wakes up again and things are different. Again. Cassandra is still pretty mad though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick thank you again to everyone who has left kudos and encouraging comments. I always brightens my day to see people enjoying this story.
> 
> Updates may slow a bit from here for a little while, I have some important real life functions coming up in the next few weeks. I will do my best to keep writing when I can though. I will also probably be updating he tags in the next little while to be more up to date with things I have drafted for the future.

It has become a habit for him to wake up in strange places.

When Cullen’s eyes finally drifted open he found himself staring up at an unfamiliar wooden ceiling. There was a soft bed underneath him, even a moderately comfortable pillow for his aching head. He’s wearing a soft cotton shirt and ramskin breeches, thick wool socks pulled up to mid calf. Definitely an improvement from last time, considering he was not chained in a cell.

Things were looking up for Cullen Rutherford. Marginally.

His brain throbbed inside his skull, a painful pressure behind his eyes. There was an unmistakable pain in his right arm, one that he had hoped would have gone by now. Not so lucky on that front, though admittedly the pain was lesser than before. Cullen managed to lift his arm over his face so he could see the mark on his hand, still glowing faintly green. He could feel it, a part of him now that could not be so easily cut away.

“So you have rejoined us once more.”

Cullen nearly jumped out of his skin in surprise. He had thought himself alone, but clearly that was not the case. Solas was hovering at his bedside now, amusement written all over his face.

“Solas.” His voice sounded harsh in his own ears. “Where …”

“Back in Haven. You collapsed after sealing the rift. Do you remember?”

Thankfully those memories are fully intact. Cullen remembered everything with vivid detail, from when he woke in the cell to their battle at the ruins of the temple. He remembered closing the rift and then passing out in the snow; a vaguely embarrassed flush began to creep up his neck.

“I do. What happened after the rift was sealed? The Breach?”

“Remains,” Solas replied with a frown, “Though it has become somewhat stable. No longer expanding at any rate.”

Then they were at least partially successful. He could not say he wasn’t a little disappointed though. He’d wanted to end this before he died.

“And how long do I have?”

Solas tilted at him, brow furrowed. “How long? I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Cassandra said that the mark was killing me. Do you know how much time I have left?”

The elf blinked at him owlishly. “Killing you? Oh, well, yes. It was. But like the Breach, your mark has also stabilized. It’s no longer spreading.”

It wasn’t spreading? Cullen stared at his hand. It did seem to be more … well, docile was a strange word but that’s what came to mind. So that meant what? He wasn’t going to die?

“I’m not dying?”

Solas shrugged and did a shit job of suppressing a smile. “No more than the rest of us.”

By the Maker, that was a relief. He sagged visibly in his bed as some of the weight fell from his chest.

“I can assure you that you are in relatively good health Cullen. Cassandra and Leliana tasked me with overseeing your recovery once more. You have been asleep for nearly a week now.”

“A week?” he blurts out in shock, “I’ve been asleep for a week?”

“Very nearly yes. Much has happened in that time. There are things you should know.” The humor had gone from him, and Solas spoke with a seriousness that set Cullen on edge. “Public opinion has changed drastically about your circumstance. After you stabilized the Breach and word of the visions we saw there spread, you have become something of a heroic figure in Haven. They are calling you the Herald of Andraste.”

“I’m sorry, the what?”

Cullen could not quite wrap his head around what Solas was telling him. Herald of Andraste. What did that even mean?

“They say that you were sent by Andraste herself, that she is the one who led you through the Fade to save us from the sky. It’s all very … charming.”

By the tone in his voice it was evident that the elf did not believe this to be true - the elves had their own gods, and though Solas did not seem to be of the Dalish it could still be that he followed those beliefs.

“The Herald of Andraste,” Cullen said slowly, almost to himself “Could that be true? Could all of this be the will of the Maker?”

Cullen was as devout as they came, his faith ran deep and his belief firm despite the atrocity he had seen in his life. Was this his true purpose? Could Andraste herself have chosen to spare him from the explosion at the conclave and guide him back from the Fade? Maker how he wished he could remember. Even seeing that vision had not loosened anything from his mind.

“The truth of the matter remains to be seen, but what I can say for certain is that word of your effort is spreading quickly. The Chantry has already denounced you, citing you as a heretic and a murderer who took the lives of the Divine and her faithful. One of their numbers, a Chancellor Roderick, has attempted several times to have you put in chains and taken to Val Royeaux.”

Ah yes, the Chancellor.

“And yet I remain here. Why is that?”

“Seeker Pentaghast and Sister Leliana would not allow it. They say you are needed here.”

Cullen was surprised to hear that. Given Cassandra’s open hostility towards him he would have thought she’d jump at the chance to send him away. His repeated proclamations of innocence had fallen on deaf ears during their fight to the temple.

“That brings me to another point, Cullen. Those two have also moved to reinstate the Inquisition of old. By the writ of the late Divine they have acted with her authority, publicly declaring themselves to the world. Most in Haven have pledged themselves to this cause, and more arrive daily.”

So they had done it after all. He had known of their intent, should the conclave have failed and the fighting continued. No one could have predicted what had actually happened, but with the destruction of the temple and the deaths of so many, Thedas was likely to descend into chaos. Someone would need to step in, to restore order and find a way to seal the Breach for good.

“And you, Solas?”

The apostate looked surprised at the question. “Me? I suppose I will stay with the Inquisition, if they will have me. The Breach is still a threat and war rages everywhere. I would lend my knowledge and my skill where I can.”

“They will be lucky to have you.”

“Assuming of course our good Seeker does not clap me in irons and send me off to whatever Circle still stands. All mages are apostates now after all, regardless of intent.”

Given recent events Cullen could easily conjure up an image of he and Solas being shipped off in the custody of the Chancellor to face a hanging in the grand capital of Orlais. Still, if Cullen had been allowed to stay after his perceived crimes surely Solas would not be turned away. He was weary of mages still, and could freely admit that, but the elf seemed a decent enough sort.

“Regardless, I should inform the Seeker that you are awake. She wished to be alerted right away.”

“I will come with you.”

He didn’t want to lay about when there was work to be done. Solas made a face when Cullen attempted to pull himself out of the bed.

“I’m not sure if that’s wise. You should probably be resting.”

“I have been resting for a solid week,” Cullen countered, proudly not falling on his face when he managed to get himself upright, “I feel fine.”

Fine was, of course, a relative term. A headache still pounded in his skull, though it’s origin was uncertain. Beginnings of lyrium withdrawal? Obnoxious magical hand? Who could tell. But he was a soldier and he’d had much worse than this; pain could be weathered. Besides, the fresh air would probably do him well.

+++

Cullen was not prepared for what he had awoken to.

The short trip from the small house to the Chantry building was nothing but wide staring eyes and not so hushed whispering and pointing.

_“That’s him, the Herald!”_

_“He saved us.”_

_“Maker guide him.”_

It was intensely embarrassing for him. Cullen had always been a simple man, never seeking out praise or notoriety for his life’s works. A templar does not seek affirmations of the ego, only the comfort in serving the Maker and those at his side. Some of the villagers attempted to approach him, but he would duck away and stammer excuses.

_They really think me a saviour_ , he was baffled by the thought, _Could I have really been chosen by Andraste?_

It was not an honour he thought he deserved.

The Chantry itself was eerily quiet. There were only a handful of Sisters about, and they glanced at him nervously when he entered. The only thing that breaks the silence is the sound of an argument filtering from the inner sanctum toward the back of the building.

“I believe this is where we will part ways for now,” Solas said softly as the shouting grew louder, “It would not be wise for me to get between the Seeker and the Chancellor. Do not push yourself too hard. Good luck.”

Cullen almost wanted to turn around himself. The wooden double doors at the end of the long hall were open, and as he cautiously approached he could make out the argument more clearly.

“You are harbouring a murder, _Seeker_ ,” Chancellor Roderick was practically spitting at them when Cullen tentatively pushed through the doorway, “And if you do not hand him over to our custody his actions will be your actions.”

Cassandra slammed her fists down on the wooden table; everyone in the room flinched. They don’t seem to notice him just yet, too caught up in their own anger.

“I do not answer to you Roderick. Cullen Rutherford will remain here with the Inquisition until we can determine the validity of his guilt. The Divine granted us the authority to -”

“Justinia is gone, Cassandra. Whatever authority she has bestowed on you is nullified with her death. The Chantry will elect a new Divine, only then can She pass judgement on this blasphemy.”

Leliana leaned in next to Cassandra, less forceful but just as intimidating. “And you would have what exactly? The only person with the power to negate these rifts rotting in a cell until you can agree who will cut his head off. His place is here.”

“The faithful demand his capture,” to his credit, Roderick stood his ground, “And I would give it to them. Cullen Rutherford’s involvement has stained the name of the Templar Order, and by extension the Chantry itself. His guilt is irrelevant at this point, we need to -”

“My guilt is irrelevant?” Cullen could not stop himself from interjecting at that point. He stepped forward, glaring at the Chancellor, “You would see me hang for a crime just so you can put a face to it?”

“You’re awake,” Cassandra looked surprised to see him, “You should be resting after what happened.”

“I have rested enough it seems.”

“Guards, take the prisoner. I want him in chains back to Val Royeaux to answer for what happened at the Temple.”

A pair of Templars who had been standing at the ready inside of the big double doors shuffled hesitantly behind him. They were wearing helms so he could not see their faces, but odds are he may have known them both personally.

“Belay that order,” Cassandra barked back, “And leave us.”

They bowed and left the room; Chancellor Roderick looked furious.

“You do not have the authority here Chancellor, nor will you. I will only say this one more time. Cullen Rutherford’s life belongs to the Inquisition. The Breach must be sealed and that mark on his hand is the key to doing that. If we find evidence that he is guilty, then he will face justice. Until then we will see this war stopped and order restored.”

The older man snarled, fists clenched white-knuckled at his side like a child about the throw a tantrum.

“We will see, Pentaghast. This is not the end, mark my words.”

He turned heel and began to storm out of the room, pausing only to glare daggers at Cullen. It was clear that Roderick thought him the culprit, despite what they had seen or what people said of him now. The doors shut behind him, heavy and final.

The silence was so awkward and thick he thought he might choke on it.

“How are you feeling Cullen?” Leliana broke it first, leaning one hip against the table with her arms folded across her chest.

_Angry. Afraid. Bitter._

“I’ve been better,” he replied instead, trying his best to remain neutral, “It seems I could have been a lot worse.”

They could have sent him to the Chantry for trial. If they would have even bothered with the formality of course. He should thank them for that, even if it seemed his life was now the property of this new Inquisition. Cullen had lived most of his life as someone else’s tool, this would not be any different for him.

_I wanted it to be_. Maker how he wanted it to be.

“Now that you are awake there are things we must discuss,” Cassandra would not quite meet his eye when she spoke to him. Did she still think him guilty? At the very least he was relieved that she seemed to want to keep him alive for the time being.

“Things have moved quickly while you were unconscious,” Leliana said, “The Chantry has denounced you as a fraud and a heretic, along with anyone under the Inquisition’s banner.”

“Solas told me a little of this when I woke,” Cullen admitted, “He said … he said they are calling me the Herald of Andraste.”

The women exchanged meaningful glances that he could not hope to interpret.

“They are saying that it was Andraste herself who plucked you from the explosion and led you through the Fade to safety. Some see this as providence, the divine will of the Maker.” Cassandra looked decidedly uncomfortable as she spoke. “Our soldiers did see a woman behind you in the Fade, now they claim this to be Andraste.”

Maker’s breath.

“And do you believe this? That I am this Herald?”

The Seeker exhaled sharply. “I do not know what to think. Can I believe that you alone survived this because of the intervention of the Maker when so many are dead? Is He that cruel to only spare one life? You can’t even remember it yourself. I just … I don’t know.”

There was a brutal honesty behind her words that Cullen had to respect. It was a lot to ask someone to believe in; he wasn’t even sure if he was ready to believe it himself.

“It is something that I think only time can reveal to us,” Leliana added softly. “There is still too much we do not know, but in the mean time we can use this to our advantage. We have been careful to cultivate these rumors, to paint you in this saviour’s colours for people to see. The Inquisition is still fragile, and with the pressures from the Chantry we need to have as many on our side as we can.”

It was a poor position to be in. They had nothing right now; no numbers, no friends, and no Chantry support. Dressing him up as the Herald did seem like their best way to garner some support, especially from the locals. It was a small step, but an important one nonetheless.

“Regardless, we must still move forward,” Cassandra said firmly, “Our diplomat is on route, she will be here the day after next. And I … I will see to our soldiers until a suitable replacement can be found.”

That stung. It should have been him overseeing the forces, that was what he had come to Haven for. But that future was gone, burned away in fire and distrust.

“I could recommend people,” Cullen offered, “There are many fine men and women I have served with that would -”

“No,” she snapped, though she seemed to immediately regret her harsh tone; she continued, somewhat softer, “Do not concern yourself with this matter. It will be handled. Besides, we have other uses for you Cullen. There are smaller rifts opening all across Fereldan and even into Orlais. You mark could prove to be the weapon we need to fight back against the demons.”

Well, at least she was using his name again.

“I will do what I can, if it means making things right.”

“Then you will help us fix this before it is too late?” Cassandra finally looked at him, her dark eyes guarded but unmistakably hopeful. Perhaps her goodwill was not so lost after all. If he could use this strange power to help people then that was what he would do; given enough time, maybe his lost memories would return to him as well. Her hand was outstretched, and he only hesitated a moment before meeting hers.

“Whatever it takes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are starting to move.
> 
> Until now things have generally followed the plot of the game, but soon there will start to be some wild divergences. The Chantry will play more of an antagonistic role this time around, and certain events will happen differently. Choose between the mages and templars? I wonder ...


	5. interlude - a letter home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A letter from Cullen, bound to South Reach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short bonus chapter. I will be doing these throughout the story :)

 

_+++_

_Mia,_

_I know, I know. It’s been too long since my last letter. I can hear you huffing already._

_I’m not sure how far word has traveled. Perhaps you have known for a while already, but I wanted to tell you about what’s happened with my own words. I would hope that you still trust them over any outlandish tales you may have heard._

_Last I wrote I was still in Kirkwall. Maker, how that seems so long ago now. I was approached by a member of the Seekers, Lady Cassandra Pentaghast, and she offered me a chance at a new life. I had grown weary of the shackles and burdens of the Order, believing I had no more left in me to give. I was recruited to oversee the forces of the fledgling Inquisition, and should talks between the mages and templars fail we would stand at the ready. I was prepared to dedicate myself to this new task, to wash away the templar and become the commander._

_It seems that my Fate is not so easily decided._

_I’m sure you have a lot of questions. I have a lot of my own. There was an explosion at the conclave where both sides were brought under the request of Divine Justinia. So many have died, so much has been lost, and yet somehow I survived. I have no memory what happened, only fragments second hand accounts. Now there is a hole in the sky and the Chantry wishes to see my head on a pike. They believe me to be responsible for this tragedy, but you must believe me when I say I would never willingly do such a thing._

_I do not know how widespread or fanciful the rumors are. The people in Haven whisper and gaze after me. They call me Herald, rescued by Andraste and sent to save them from the Breach. I don’t know what to do when they look to me. I cannot remember Mia, how can I offer them anything when I can’t even remember? Am I not still the same man I have been? People stare at me with either fear or reverence and I don’t know how to handle it._

_I’m sorry, I did not mean to become so melancholy. Despite this all I wanted you to know that I am alive and well. I think of you often. How are the children? Harriet must be close to a woman grown now. It has been too long since I have seen them, and you of course._

_For the time being I will remain with the Inquisition in Haven. There is work I can do here, work that will help people. If I am indeed blessed by Andraste then I must find a way that I can help restore peace to Fereldan and all of Thedas. All of this death cannot be for nothing._

_Please stay safe._

_Cullen._

_+++_


	6. down at the crossroads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen makes his first trip to the Hinterlands. The fighting is bad, and a tense situation develops at the Crossroads.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay for this chapter, life has been very busy lately. Thanks to everyone who has left kudos and comments in the mean time. I will try to update again with a little more frequency, but I can't make any promises.

Josephine Montilyet was everything Cullen expected from an old friend of Leliana’s. Charming, well spoken, and frighteningly connected. She was nothing but polite and enthusiastic when they met for the first time, pledging her support for the cause with all she had to give.

“I have heard so much about you,” Josephine had said with a smile that made Cullen just a little bit nervous, “I look forward to working with you Herald.”

He was starting to get used to people addressing him by that title, though it still made him uncomfortable. At least the people in Haven were beginning to treat him with some normalcy again, though he would still catch some averting their gaze or dropping to a deep bow when he passed. It was embarrassing, but Cullen would adapt. He had given himself to the Inquisition and he would not let something like a little personal discomfort jeopardize their work.

Speaking of jeopardizing their work.

“We need power, enough magic poured into the mark to -”

“And I still disagree,” Cullen snapped back, “We could approach the Templar Order. They could suppress the breach, weaken it so I could close it for good.”

There was a collective sound of exasperation from Cassandra, Leliana and Josephine. They had been arguing this in circles for about twenty minutes now.

“Speculation,” Leliana interrupts, “We have no proof such a plan could work.”

“And we have no proof that funneling a catastrophic amount of magic into me would work either! I was a templar, Leliana, I know what they are capable of.”

He huffed, frustrated, and turned away from the women. Would they not even entertain his opinion on the matter? This was his life they were risking after all. Cullen understood why they would want to turn to the rebel mages - power was power after all. But the idea of trying to supercharge the mark on his hand, to have that much magic flowing through him, was enough to make his stomach turn.

 _No one would want that_ , he reasoned to himself, _It’s unsafe, it’s insane. It’s not because I hate them. I don’t hate them. I don’t_.

Old habits were hard to break, but he was trying. Both with the lyrium and his attitude, for what it was worth.

“The specifics of what will and will not work do not matter right now as neither group will speak to us,” Josephine said, a calm voice that cut through the tension in the air, “The Chantry actively speaks against you, lobbying powerful nobility in both Ferelden and Orlais for support. They fear this so called ‘Herald’, and have labelled the Inquisition as a band of heretics intent on destroying their work.”

Cullen frowned, leaning heavily against their makeshift war table. “They still think I am responsible for the Temple of Sacred Ashes?”

“They are making it their mission to see that you are hanged for it, as well as anyone who supports you.”

“Smells like Roderick’s doing,” Cassandra grimaced, “He left Haven after our attempt to seal the breach.”

“I had one of my scouts follow after him,” Leliana said, “The last report I received indicated that he was heading straight for Val Royeaux. He will likely be there by now.”

“My point still stands. Approaching either the mages or the templars for help right now is not an option, not until we can convince people of the Inquisition’s true purpose.”

This was shit of the worst kind. The Chantry had no standing army, not with the Templars splintering away to slaughter the mages, but they could still destroy them easily. They had a voice in almost every kingdom - even Tevinter for Andraste’s sake - and all it would take were the right words to convince someone with enough faith to march against them. Josephine was right, of course. They needed support, not just from the people but from those who gave the orders.

“There is something we can do. Something you can do, Cullen,” Leliana was smiling, a strange hopeful thing that seemed out of place given the nature of their current discussion, “I received a letter from a chantry cleric by the name of Mother Giselle who wishes to speak with you. She’s been working with the refugees in the Hinterlands, near Redcliff. Her help would be invaluable, if she would lend it to us.”

“You want me to convince her?”

Cullen was no diplomat. Give him a battle and he would master the field, but leave him to words and he was more than likely to fumble. Would it not be a wiser idea to send someone like Josephine to woo her to their side?

“It should be you,” Leliana responded when he voiced the concern, “Eyes are on our every move, and you need to put yourself out where people can see you. The Herald needs to become a public figure, a face to our cause.”

Cullen couldn’t help glancing over in Cassandra’s direction. She was doing a poor job of trying to keep her face neutral, the corner of her lips twitching downwards toward a scowl. She still did not trust him, not completely anyways, but she was keeping it to herself. The Seeker was biting down her objections, and at the very least giving him a chance.

“Alright,” he agreed, still hesitant, “But what if this is a trap?”

“It could be, though I believe her intentions honest. Mother Giselle declined invitation to the conclave to continue her work in tending to the wounded and desperate in the Hinterlands. We have sent a forward scouting party, to minimize any surprises the Mother might have planned for you.”

“Take Solas and Varric with you,” Cassandra added, “If it is a trap then you will at least be prepared.”

“Would you come along as well?”

They stare at each other for a moment until Cassandra shakes her head slowly. “I cannot. Someone must supervise our soldiers until we find a suitable replacement.”

It still stung, the reminder of what had been taken from him. But he had new purpose now and could not afford to dwell on what might have been. Cassandra would watch over the men and women of their forces until they found someone. They were in good hands without him. Cullen would go to the Hinterlands and find this Mother Giselle, he would do his job.

“When do we leave?”

+++

The Hinterlands are only a few hours away by horseback, and it was not even mid morning before they were upon the Inquisition’s forward camp. Solas and Varric were both eager to join him on this trip, one from curiosity the other from boredom. Their bickering, which Cullen is happy to note is amicable, distracted him from his doubts and the dull, constant ache that had begun in the back of his skull. Was this the lyrium or the mark or simple stress? He could not be certain.

A dwarf greeted them when they dismounted and passed off their horses, and Cullen thought that she must be the one in charge of this group.

“The Herald of Andraste! It’s an honour to finally meet you, Ser. We’ve all heard the stories about what you did at the breach. Inquisition Scout Harding, at your service.”

Varric attempted to make a joke about Harding in Hightown that fell flat, and everyone pointedly ignored it.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Scout Harding,” Cullen extended a hand, and they shook over a smile, “To business, shall we? What’s the situation here?”

The dwarven woman noded and her expression became serious. “Yes Ser. Our purpose in the area is two fold. Initially we came here to secure better mounts for the Inquisition from Dennet, the old Horse Master to Redcliff. I grew up here, and I can tell you that Dennet’s horses are the best Fereldan has to offer. Securing mounts from him will be a huge gain for us.”

Cullen had heard the name before, though he could not recall from where. Perhaps a passing mention from someone during his time at Kinloch Hold?

“Since the fighting has gotten worse we haven’t been able to make contact with him,” Harding continued, “We aren’t even sure if he’s still alive. The mages and templars are slaughtering each other across the whole countryside, along with anyone who gets in between them. Refugees are gathering at the Crossroads, a little village just down the way. That’s where you will find Mother Giselle, tending to the wounded.”

“And what do you make of her?”

“She seems legit. It’s just her and a handful of chantry sisters helping where they can. I know Sister Leliana had her suspicions but I’m pretty sure that any resistance you might meet won’t come from her. The fighting draws closer to the village with every hour though, and I’m worried that they are going to come under attack. Corporal Vale has gone with a group of Inquisition soldiers to help protect the people, but I don’t know how long they can hold out for.”

“Then let’s not waste any time.”

They take a few moments to check over their supplies. Cullen is trying his best to adjust to his new equipment. His armour had been damaged beyond repair - Cassandra had told him they needed to cut him out of it when they found him - his long sword and shield lost in the explosion at the conclave. The Inquisition’s blacksmith had given him new ones that were serviceable but not nearly as well crafted, and promised better fare when they could get a supply of quality materials. It had been another loss that hadn’t even crossed his mind until he was preparing to set out. They had held memories, both good and bad, and had been a part of him for so long that their absence was keenly felt while he wore this borrowed equipment.

Another thing to adapt to.

“We’re ready when you are, Curly,” Varric’s voice cut through his distracted thoughts, “Just say the word.”

He and Solas hovered around the edge of the camp, at the path that would lead them down to the Crossroads. Cullen nodded at them and took a step forward. Stopped. Something was missing. He turned back to the camp, where Scout Harding was sending off a bird back to Haven.

“Scout Harding?”

She glanced back at him, a curious tilt to her head. “Yes Herald? Is there something else you needed?”

“Would you come along with us?”

She blinked owlishly at him, clearly surprised at the invitation. “You want me to come with you?”

“You have knowledge of the area and a better understanding of the situation. That would be invaluable to us. I assume that bow is not just for show?”

“I’ve been known to hit a mark or two,” she seemed nervous, though Cullen wasn’t sure why, “I, uh, I don’t know if I can just leave. Sister Leliana put me in charge of the scouts here and she, well, she’s pretty terrifying.”

Oh. It was perfectly understandable not to want to be on the Nightingale's bad side, not when she’s tasked you with a specific job. But if Cullen was going to play this role of Herald should he not be able to recruit the people he wanted? Leliana would understand why he was pulling Harding away from this duty. Surely there was someone else who could cover for her.

“Don’t worry about Leliana, I’ll simply explain to her that I thought you would be more useful here advising me directly. Is that fair?”

Harding smiled and gave a quick nod, though Cullen could tell she was still a bit anxious. “Okay, fair deal Herald. Give me five minutes to change the guard, so to speak.”

“Of course.”

Varric was giving him a strange look when he finally joined them. Solas looked as implacable as always, though he thought he saw his lips quirk upwards for just a second.

“What?” Cullen asked while they waited, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“No reason, Curly. Just thinking about how things have changed.”

“Changed?”

A grin broke out over the dwarf’s face. “Nothing, nothing. Don’t worry about it - seriously, you’re doing that thing where you think with your face too hard.”

Cullen frowned, felt his cheeks burn a little with embarrassment. Harding joined them a moment later, bow and quiver slung over her back and a pair of long knives at her hip. She seemed to notice his discomfort and quirked a delicate ginger brow at him.

“Is something the matter, Herald?”

“No, no, I’m fine,” he waved a hand while Varric chuckled, “And please, call me Cullen. No need for formalities when we’re going to be working together.”

“Also, it makes him uncomfortable,” Solas interjected, “Glad to have you along. I am Solas, we did not have time for a proper introduction earlier.”

“Varric Tethras, at your service,” he winked at her and it was all Cullen could do to suppress a groan, “Handsome rogue and famous story teller. Perhaps you’ve heard of me?”

To her credit, Harding did not seem at all phased by the other dwarf’s grandstanding. She shrugged and pursed her lips. “Yeah, I’ve read a few of your books. The only one I really got into was the Tale of the Champion … oh … Cullen, you’re _the_ Cullen? The templar from the book?”

“Oh, um, yes. I was there.” It was not his favourite subject, the time he spent in Kirkwall and what he had done while he was there. He rubbed at the back of his neck, embarrassed again, and refused to look at anyone.

“Ah Curly you are being too modest again. He was a big help, when it mattered, anyways. So, Scout Harding - we can't just keep calling you 'Scout Harding'. It's so impersonal. What would you prefer?”

She shrugged again, and Cullen was certain he saw a little blush of her own tinge the tips of her ears. “Harding is fine for now, boys. We should get moving, yeah? No time to waste standing around talking.”

“Quite right,” Solas agreed, “Lead the way, Harding, you are the guide after all.”

“The Crossroads are not far from here, just along the path and down the hill. We need to be cautious though, the fighting is close and out of control. Neither side seems to care who they hurt.”

She lead them forward, into the wilderness, and Cullen decided that he’d made a good decision.

+++

The Crossroads was a blood bath.

They had heard the fighting long before their approach, and just as Harding had warned the skirmishes had spilled into the tiny village proper. The screaming of civilians and the clash of metal on metal rang through the countryside clear as anything.

Cullen lead them into the fray without a moment of hesitation, leaping to the aid of an Inquisition soldier moments before a templar would have run them through. He tried to call for order, to at least appeal to the templars that this was not their true path. His words fell on deaf ears however, and it grieved him to have to put them down. None of them he recognized from his time in the order, but he made sure to know their faces now. Someone had to know them, before they died.

Solas, likewise, tried similar with the mages, but his efforts were also in vain. No one would listen.

Cullen was glad that he had thought to ask Harding to join their company as she proved herself to be a deadly foe, picking off enemies from afar and then quietly sneaking in to slit more than one throat before they got too close to any of their companions. He was not sure they would have fared as well without her. If Leliana had any flack to give he would be damned sure that Harding heard none of it.

With the combined efforts of his small party and the contingent of Inquisition soldiers they managed to cut down and disperse both the templars and mages. The last of their numbers turned tail and vanished into the surrounding woods, leaving behind dozens of bodies and even more wounded. Cullen sagged under his own weight, under the weight of senseless slaughter, as people buzzed around him frantically. Could they have prevented this? Maybe if he had come sooner this wouldn't have happened.

“Cullen,” a firm hand grabbed him by the arm and he was suddenly face to face with Solas; the elf looked agitated, “Cullen, there is a situation.”

Solas pivoted him so he could see a ledge, raised just slightly over the main road of the village. Standing there, just back from the edge, is a lone templar. She had lost her helmet in the fighting, and he can make out a thin line of blood running from her hairline. Like the others he did not know her face, but he was dismayed at how young she looked. A handful of years into adulthood, at best. In one arm she held a struggling woman in her middle years, garbed in the unmistakable robes of the chantry. Her other hand firmly held the grip of a shortsword, hovering dangerously close to her captive’s neck.

“Mother Giselle!” Cullen heard someone shout, confirming his suspicions of the older woman’s identity.

“Well shit,” Varric cursed next to him, “This is bad.”

Solas had long since released his grip, but he still stood close by. “We must tread carefully. The young templar is unstable and could kill her hostage at any moment.”

“I could try to get around behind her,” Harding said quietly, “It would be risky, her hand could slip and -”

“No,” Cullen shook his head, “No we won’t do that. She is desperate, clearly. Perhaps I can reach her.”

If he could reach just one person today it would ease the weight of this tragedy, even just a little bit. Cullen slowly put his sword and shield down to the dust and raised his hands where the young woman could clearly see them. He took a tentative step forward; the templar tensed and brought the blade flush against Giselle’s throat.

“Stay back!” she snarled in a thick Orlesian accent, “Do not come any closer or I will paint the dirt with her blood.”

Cullen bit his lip, took a breath and tried again.

“I am not going to hurt you. Please, release Mother Giselle and I will -”

“I know who you are, Cullen Rutherford, you cannot fool me.”

That startled him. How does she know him so easily? Cullen stood firmly, but does not press forward.

“What is your name, Sister?” he called to her, “You know me, and I wish to know you.”

“I am not your Sister. You _abandoned_ your Brothers and Sisters, and you have ruined _everything_ for us.”

His brow furrowed. “Ruined… what do you -”

“They think it was us!” she roared, “That the templars killed the Divine. People are turning against us, accusing the order of having some hand in her murder, because of _you_. All of us suffer because you murdered the Divine!”

A shocked murmur erupted around him as people have crowded around to witness the situation. He wished he could make them leave, to let this be a private matter, but he knew that was not going to happen. Instead he does his best to ignore the whispering and to focus.

“I did not kill the Divine,” he responded as calmly as he could muster, “You must believe me when I say that -”

“Bullshit. I have heard them say you just walked out of the Fade unscathed when so many people I have known and cared for were destroyed. The _Herald_ of _Andraste_ ,” she spit to the ground, “You are just a coward and a murderer, hiding behind this so called Inquisition. I cannot believe that you are innocent. I will not believe it! None of you should believe it either! You are no templar, Cullen Rutherford, and you will not undo all of our work!”

Something clenched hard in his chest. Hearing talk about the chantry speaking against him was one thing, but to have someone do it to his face, someone who was once a comrade even though they had never met, was devastating.

“You want the truth from me, Sister? The truth is that I have no memory of what happened. I went to the conclave as a member of the Inquisition, not as a templar and not with any hostile intents. You can speak ill of me as you wish, but know that right now  we are the only ones working to fix that giant hole in the sky! That is what we should be focusing on, but no one seems to care.”

“He is right, child,” Mother Giselle spoke up for the first time, a soothing tone in the sea of tension and anger, “My heart yearns to know the Fate that befell our beloved Justinia, but we must put aside our hatreds and work together if we are to see Thedas to safety.”

“Be quiet you old woman! And you Herald, do not try and cloud my mind with trickery. Take responsibility for your actions. Know that you have turned the name templar into a curse, that you have jeopardized what you had sworn to serve!”

“It does not have to be this way,” Cullen said, risking a small step; she did not immediately react, which he took as a good sign. “The order can restore its good name, it’s not too late. We must end this senseless fighting, both mages and templars, and work together. I do not represent the templars any longer, and if it comes to light that I am responsible for the explosion in anyway then I will answer for those crimes as myself. Not as someone who has had ties to the templars, just me. Please, stand down. I promise you that you will be treated fairly.”

Her hand wavered for a moment and the blade inches away from Giselle. He doesn’t let himself relax, not yet, but Cullen cannot help the small hope that bloomed in his heart.

“What is your name?” he asked again.

The templar narrowed her eyes, tightening her grip on Mother Giselle but not the weapon. “Amelie.”

Good. Progress.

“Ser Amelie. Would it not be better to discuss things without a hostage? Mother Giselle has important work to do here, tending to those who are wounded and saying words for the dead. We should let her get to her work, shouldn't we?”

Amelie looked scared now, her age and inexperience showing through her rage.

“How do I know you aren't just going to kill me like all the others?”

“He gave you his word, did he not?” Mother Giselle said, “The Inquisition is new, and I suspect their Herald wishes to prove himself against these allegations. Is that not true, Herald of Andraste?”

“Of course. I did make you a promise, Amelie. Release Mother Giselle and no harm will come to you.”

Cullen extended a hand toward her, putting on his best sincere face in hope that it would convince the girl.

Amelie tentatively loosened her hold on Mother Giselle, the hand holding the blade moving limply to her side; she sagged slightly, a defeated look crossing her face. Cullen, relieved that he seemed to have gotten through, let himself grin.

“Excellent work, Cullen,” Solas said, “It seems you are much better with words than I would have expected.”

Varric patted him on the arm. “Yeah, good job. I thought for sure we were going to have another dead chantry woman on our hands here.”

Mother Giselle suddenly let out a cry of alarm, and a sleek silver arrow was now sprouting from Amelie’s forehead. The girl had a look of surprise etched into her features as her sword fell from her slack fingers into the dirt. People who had crowded around to watch the exchange screamed and run for cover as she crumpled to the ground.

Cullen is furious.

“Who is responsible for this?” he roared, scouring the dispersing crowd for anyone with a bow. It wasn’t Harding or Varric he knew for certain, they had been beside him the whole time; Varric used very distinguishable bolts in his crossbow and Harding currently had much thicker, darker arrows. They both have weapons drawn, also searching out for any sign of hostility. Cullen looked out into the surrounding trees, and he thought he caught a flash of red retreating into the woods.

“Up there!” he pointed, and the soldiers rally themselves to follow his direction, “I saw movement there, I think.”

“We’re on it Ser,” one of them shouted before they go running.

He thought he heard Varric say something about sweeping the village, and his companions are scattering to cover as much ground as possible. Cullen sunk to his knees in the dirt then, utterly defeated. He had promised this girl safety, that she would not be harmed. Now she was dead, gone so fast that he hadn’t had time to breathe. A hand rested gently on his shoulder, and Cullen glanced up to see Mother Giselle standing over him. She seemed to be unharmed, though there was a haunted look in her eye and a fine tremor in her fingers.

“You did a fine job today, Herald,” she said quietly, words only for him, “I cannot blame the young lady for her actions, they were that of the desperate and lost, like so many of those out here. For what it is worth, you did reach her. I could see it.”

“I failed her,” he responded, a barely audible sound.

“Far from it. Come, to your feet. It will not do you well for the people to see you wallowing in the dirt. The soldiers will track down her murderer. We have much to speak about, and I for one could do with a good sit and a strong cup of tea.”

Cullen mustered the energy to stand, willed himself not to look like some traumatized fool. Giselle was right, he needed people to see him as being strong and confident. _You are the face of the Inquisition_ , he reminded himself, _Act like someone they will want to follow_. There was much to discuss, much to be done. The Mother smiled at him as he bowed his head.

“After you, Mother Giselle.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I can't romance/play as Scout Harding then at least Cullen can recruit her into his party :) Harding's role in this story will be much more involved than in the game, as I am bumping her up to party member/inner circle status. You can't stop me Bioware.


	7. why are they always young?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Mother Giselle finally speak and the party sets out into the Hinterlands. War is a terrible thing.

“This is not how I anticipated our meeting to go, Herald.”

There was a small hut off the main road of the village, a modest thing that only held a bedroll, a small table and chairs, and a bookshelf so dusty it made Cullen’s nose itch just looking at it. Mother Giselle had brought him here to speak privately, while the soldiers and his companions dealt with the immediate aftermath of Ser Amelie’s murder. He wanted to be there with them, to give direction and make himself useful, but Solas had insisted he go and have this conversation.

 _This is why we are here, is it not?_ The elf had said, a voice of reason to counter his own frustrated anger. _We will handle this for the time being. Join us when you are ready._

He would have to get used to this. Cullen was no commander, not anymore, and he needed to remember that. The investigation would be handled by Corporal Vale for now, who lead the contingent that had been protecting the Crossroads when they arrived; he’d promised to bring word to him when his men returned from the woods, whether there was news or not.

“I don’t believe anyone could have anticipated this,” Cullen said, wrapping his hands around a clay fired mug filled with warm tea, “I am sorry we did not arrive sooner. I can’t help but think it could have been avoided entirely.”

“Do not trouble yourself with such worries, Herald. It is in our natures to cast blame on ourselves, to wonder endlessly on what could have been. This was a tragedy, yes, but we are still here and we must move on. We will do so in her memory.”

Cullen stared down into his drink; tiny dark flecks of tea floated on the clear surface. “You will say words for her?”

There were three other sisters with Mother Giselle who were currently tending to the task of gathering the dead and prioritizing the wounded. She would join them when their talk was done, an endless day of grisly work ahead.

“Of course, I will see to it personally. I would ask if you would stay for her, but there is much for you to do and time is something we have precious little of. “ She took a long delicate sip from her own mug before continuing. “You are a strange man, Cullen Rutherford. The chantry would have me believe you are a monster who killed the Divine in cold blood. A devil, leading the wicked. Others say you are a blessing, sent by Andraste herself to guide us in these times of peril.”

“And what do you believe? Certainly a distinguished woman of the cloth such as yourself shouldn’t entertain the company of a devil.”

She smiled, deep lines creasing around her eyes and cheeks. “I have seen a man who cares deeply for those whom he does not know, but wishes to help. That person who talked down a frightened young woman from making a terrible mistake could not be the same man who would have destroyed so many innocent lives at the conclave. Whether you have been gifted to us from Andraste remains to be seen, but I can dare to have hope. Hope is what we need in these dark times.”

It was comforting to have someone willing to believe in him, especially someone from the chantry.

“With all that’s happened let’s not forget that I came here at your request, Mother Giselle. What did you wish to speak to me about?”

“Ah, yes. It would be foolish of me to think that you are unaware of the chantry’s denouncement of the Inquisition, yes?”

“We are aware. There was a man named Roderick at Haven who seems to have made it his life’s work to see me dead. Leliana believes that he’s gone back to Val Royeaux to raise support against us, likely instigated more backlash.”

“Chancellor Roderick, yes. He is one voice of many who would oppose you, though a strong one. Not all of those who speak against you do so out of personal resentment. Some are simply grandstanding, vying for the position of Divine after Justinia's passing. But there are those who fear you, fear what this ‘Herald of Andraste’ might bring about. The conclave was a tremendous tragedy - so many lives taken from us needlessly. That kind of loss, it drives people to lay blame, to point a finger and say ‘this is who hurt us’.”

Cullen could understand that mentality. He’d seen it before, at both Kinloch and Kirkwall, experienced it himself firsthand. Fear drove people to desperate lengths.

“Now is a time for action, Herald. The chantry will work to convince powers in both Orlais and Fereldan that the Inquisition cannot be trusted, and that you are every bit the monster they would have us believe. In Orlais, particularly, there is already a strong bias in the chantry’s favour. It will prove difficult to reach the ears of those who would support you.”

“What can I do?”

“You must show them that you are not what they believe. I will admit that before today I had my doubts, but after seeing you with Ser Amelie I know now that you are not the demon to be feared. You are a man who cares and that is your greatest weapon. Word will spread of what transpired here today, and it will be up to you to build on that.”

“And you think that will help?”

“The chantry is at it’s most powerful when they work as a single, unified voice. The trick is to convince some of them that they are wrong about you. You don’t need all of them, and you don’t even need all of those you convert to believe in you. There just needs to be doubt. And if they have doubts, then you have time.”

There was no door on the hut, but a soft rapping sound came from against the entry way. Harding stood there sheepishly, fidgeting with her thumbs.

“Sorry to interupt, but Corporal Vale’s men have returned. He wants to speak with you when you’re free Cullen.”

“Thank you Harding, I’ll be there shortly.”

She nodded and fled, leaving them alone once more.

“Perhaps we have taken enough time. Maker knows there is much to be done,” Giselle said, a smile on her lips, “I will travel to Haven, once my work here is done. I can prepare a list of names of those in the chantry who I believe could be persuaded to your cause.”

“Thank you, Mother Giselle. This means alot to me.”

“There is no need for thanks, dear boy. It is not much, but I will help where I can. If you ever find yourself in need of an ear or words of counsel then you may always seek me out. Now come, it is time for us to attend to our respective duties.”

+++

“Corporal Vale?”

They had not met formally, but Cullen had already heard much about the man. He was young but promising, with great armed prowess and leadership skill. He and his men were camped on a rise overlooking the village, a scattered mess of tents and dwindling supplies. Vale looked flustered as Cullen approached, flanked by Varric, Harding and Solas.

“Ah, Ser Cullen, an honour to meet you proper,” he gave a salute, which Cullen responded to in kind, “Thank you for your help earlier, I’m not sure we would have held out much longer. This fighting is out of control.”

“Glad we could be of assistance. I’m just sorry we did not arrive earlier. Were your men able to find anything in the woods? Any sign of the assailant who murdered Ser Amelie?”

“We were able to find a trail, a set of tracks that travel westwards. We secured a couple of your scouts from the forward camp to follow them proper. Prints are heavy, someone decently armoured I’d say. Likely a templar.”

A templar? That couldn’t be right. That would mean that Amelie was murdered by one of her own. A tight knot of something that felt suspiciously like guilt pulled at his gut.

“This is … how could this be? Have they lost themselves so much to this war that they would turn on each other?”

“War does immeasurable things to people. Perhaps they were afraid of what the young woman would reveal if she were brought to the Inquisition for questioning?” Solas suggested, a curious furrow in his brow.

The apostate’s words made sense, as they usually did. It would not have been the first time that Cullen saw a prisoner die under mysterious circumstances to protect information. Not that Amelie had been a prisoner, per say. Cullen was not planning to clap her in irons and drag her back to Haven - he would have offered her a place there, a chance to atone for her mistakes and help those she had harmed.

“We can only speculate for now, I’m afraid, and pray that the scouts are able to track this culprit down.”

Vale nodded in solemn agreement. “What’s done is done. We’ll do our best to find ‘em, you’ve got my word on that. In the meantime we’ve got dead of our own to mourn, and wounded to tend to. The refugees here are nearing the end of their ropes, not enough supplies - food, clothes, blankets, medicine. You name it, they don’t have it. A real mess it is.”

Refugees had been pouring into the area, more than the village was prepared to handle for certain. They would not last until the end of the week at this rate. It was a situation all too familiar for those who had come from Kirkwall.

“Haven can send what supplies it can spare, though I’m afraid it won’t be much.”

“It’s a good gesture, but likely won’t make much of a difference,” Vale said, “They used to get supplies here on the regular, from Redcliff and from trade over the Frostbacks. But with them bloody mages and templars tearing up the countryside it’s too dangerous to risk the travel. Redcliff’s closed their gates, won’t let anyone in or out ‘cept their own guards. Even if you did manage to get past the fighting, there’s always the bandits out there picking people off.”

“If only we could simply ask for the fighting to stop,” Solas mused, “The people here could get back to their lives.”

Varric laughed, an empty humourless sound that made him uneasy. “Easier said than done, Chuckles. You ever try convincing a zealot that they need to take a step back and relax? I don’t recommend it.”

Cullen frowned as the enormity of the situation left him feeling useless. “There must be something we can do?”

“As I said, the people here need supplies. The Inquisition can offer protection here from the fighting, but we also need to make it safe for the trade routes.”

It seemed daunting to try and end this war. Individuals could be reasoned with, but groups were dangerous. What could he hope to accomplish out here, himself and a handful of allies against the untamed forces of both rebel mages and the templar order? Cullen took a long breath and steadied his grip on the pommel of his sword.

“The Inquisition must assert itself as a power in the area,” he said firmly, “Harding, you spoke of reaching out to the horsemaster Dennet?”

The dwarf nodded. “Yeah. But like I said, we were unable to make contact with him because of the fighting. Corporal, have you heard anything from the farms?”

Vale shook his head. “Nothing concrete. A few of the locals make noise every now and then about going to steal some horses and riding off to freedom but nothing ever comes of it. If they are alive up there then they’ve got the luck of the Maker’s balls on their side.”

“We will find them, whatever their fates may have been. If they are alive then securing those mounts will be a great boost to the Inquisitions resources.”

A grave look of concern fell over the Corporal’s face. “It’s half a day’s travel to those farms from here, Ser Cullen. And there are a lot of mages and templars between us and them, it’s more than a risky road.”

“We could do it,” Harding spoke up, a note of confidence in her voice that Cullen can’t help but admire, “I know the way, and we could avoid most of the open areas where the fighting will be thickest.”

“Well there you have it! Spitfire here knows the way, nothing to worry about,” Varric crowed, “And while we're on this business of finding horses we may as well clear out a few bad guys along the way.”

“They aren’t ‘bad guys’, Varric,” Cullen replied tersely, “They’ve simply lost their way, been misguided. If I could just get through to them -”

“Well they are misguiding themselves all over the rest of us,” Varric snapped back, “I know you’re keen to get your old buddies on our side, I get that, but don’t forget they’re just as responsible for this mess as the mages. A mage may have started it, but a man doesn’t go that far unless he’s pushed, Curly.”

Cullen did not want this to be a point of contention between them, not if they were going to be working together. They had a shared history, he and Varric, one where they were on opposing sides for much of it. What happened in Kirkwall began this mess; a single horrific act perpetrated out of rage and rebellion. Did he blame Cullen for this? They should talk, but this was not the time or place to hash out old transgressions.

“Let’s not do this here,” he said, a note a finality in his voice.

“Yeah, sure.” Varric looked almost relieved, which Cullen chose to take as a good sign, “Let’s not ruin our first roadtrip.”

Tension vanished and the dwarf was all smiles again. Corporal Vale shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat.

“If you’re going to do this you’d best leave soon. Might be able to make it there by nightfall if you’re lucky.”

“Right, good point. If you would be so good Corporal, could you send a report back to Sister Leliana in Haven? Let her know what’s happened here and where we’ve gone.”

Vale gave another salute. “Consider it done, Ser Cullen. I’ll also send word along when the scouts report back.”

The man excused himself, leaving Cullen and his small group to prepare for their journey. Harding was quite confident that they could make it before dark and he had no reason to doubt her. They set out into the wilderness not ten minutes later, resupplied and ready to take on whatever surprises the Hinterlands had to offer.

+++

 

Avoiding the fighting had not been as easy as promised. Harding did a monumental job of guiding them through the underbrush and ruined keeps that made up the landscape of the Hinterlands, but it was impossible to bypass it all together. There was just too much, invading every open space they came across.

An arrow whizzed past Cullen’s face, just barely missing it’s mark; the fletching caught his cheek, cutting a thin neat line into his skin.

Bandits, this time, waiting behind a crumbling stone wall to ambush anyone stupid enough to come down the road. There were five of them, poorly armed but ravenous with intent. When the last of them was put down, the end of Solas’ staff through his eye socket, Cullen wiped the blood from his face. His gauntlets were tacky and red, a mixture of so much blood now that he thought they might never come clean again.

“Everyone all right?” he called out, taking a moment to breathe. There are various courses of affirmation from his group and then they pressed forward.

The sun is beginning to descend, the sky fading to an orange tinge. At this rate they would not make it to the farms before night fell, a fact to which Harding was constantly apologizing for despite Cullen’s reassurances. They knew it would be a hard road, and the fact that they had made it so far was purely because of the dwarf’s knowledge of the land.

They crested a hill dotted with thick copses of trees, narrowly avoiding a cluster of mages casting wards around a makeshift camp, when Solas called for a stop. His head was tilted, listening.

“Do you hear that?” he asked, “Just over there. Is that … crying?”

Cullen strained his own ears and yes, he could hear something just faintly. It was coming from the bottom of the hill, directly on their own path. He motioned them forward, and they crept quietly downwards, mindful to keep behind the trees. He was expecting another ambush of some sort. More bandits maybe.

That was not the case.

Splayed out against a tree trunk was the prone form of a young man - barely more than a child, Cullen noted as he approached, and again he remembered Amelie and her terrified expression and why was everyone so young? A gaping bloody hole was torn through his left side, staining the grass beneath him with an all too familiar colour. Beside the boy, teeth bared against a bloody muzzle, was an angry looking Mabari. For a moment he thought that the dog was responsible. They had seen more than a few of the animals that afternoon, both free roaming and howling at the side of humans, blood matted in their fur and dripping from open jaws. But then he saw the hand gripping the scruff around it’s neck, and the glint of a collar in the fading light.

It was protecting him.

“Weapons down,” Cullen said quietly as he sheathed his blade.

“Is that such a good idea Curly? That dog looks like it’s ready to tear our throats out.”

“Weapons down, Varric.”

The dwarf let out an affronted sigh and slung his crossbow over his back. The Mabari growled, flattening low to the ground, but did not attack. They were fiercely loyal animals, as any Fereldan would tell you, and that could make them unpredictable when it came to the safety of their masters. He hoped that by appearing non-threatening it would know they were not there to cause harm.

“S’okay Marigold ... they don’t .... look bad …”

The boy was alive. Cullen was shocked, given the severity of the wound and how still he was, but his eyes were fluttering open and he took a few ragged breaths. The dog - Marigold, he supposed it’s name was - let out a low whine and settled at his side.

“By the Maker, you’re alive!” Harding blurted out, eyes impossibly wide.

They have no potions left, nothing to help this boy. Cullen looked to the apostate, the only one of them who had any power to do anything. He knew from previous conversations that healing magic was not a specialty of his, but there must be something he could do.

“Solas?”

The elf knelt in the bloody grass, a look of deep concentration on his face. He was murmuring something quietly in elvish which Cullen had no hope of understanding but seemed like it would be soothing; it was unclear to him whether the words were for the boy or the dog.

“I’m afraid we are too late, the wound is too severe. There is nothing I can do now except to make his last moments more comfortable.”

Solas laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder and Cullen felt the familiar pang of magic in the air; it was a crisp, cool scent that he typically associated with healing magic. A faint blue glow engulfed him, and while there was no change in the state of the wound the boy seemed to relax just a little

“Tha feels nice,” he slurred, “Don’t hurt so much …”

“What is your name, lad?”

Cullen took a chance and came to his other side, where Marigold sat in vigil. The mabari stared at him, flashed it’s teeth, but ultimately allowed his presence. After a moment of careful consideration, Cullen removed his gauntlets and tentatively put a hand on the dog’s back, just next to his master’s. She stiffened, whined, but let it happen.

“Perris. M’name is Perris … came from Redcliff … there were -” he stopped abruptly, a shudder going through his body as Solas cast another spell, something stronger and strange to Cullen’s senses; the boy looked startled, but then continued, “Mages … the mages came there, so many. Fighting. Wanted to … get away.”

“The rebel mages have made base at Redcliff?” the elf questioned, a thoughtful look on his face. “Why would they go there?”

“Stability, probably. Redcliff’s got walls and backs onto water, easy to defend,” Varric mused, “But why would the Arl allow that?”

“Didn’,” Perris interrupts softly, “Ran him out. Ran lot’s out … I … Mari …”

The dog let out a short pitiful bark, followed by more whining as she nosed at her master’s legs.

“Easy girl … it’s ok. Shhh, s’ok. We made it now. It’s ….”

His hand suddenly went slack over the dog’s neck, slipping away to fall limply at his side. A smile graced his lips as his eyes closed again, followed by a soft final exhale. Perris was gone. Marigold let out a long, mournful howl and Cullen wondered just how deeply the dog felt this loss.

“Fuck,” Varric cursed, and Cullen thought it summarized the entire day rather poignantly.

They had no tools to dig him a grave and the sun was slinking ever lower; the light would be gone in an hour or so. Harding removed a thin blanket from her pack and spread it over the body; she then gathered a fistful of flowers and placed them carefully over his chest. Cullen said a few words of prayer and vowed to ask Mother Giselle to speak for him properly the next time he saw her.

“We cannot linger here,” Solas said solemnly, “We must go as far as we can while the light holds and I am afraid there is no more we can do for the boy.”

“If Dennet and his people are still alive, maybe we can send someone to give him a proper burial,” Harding said quietly.

“Aye, if they can be spared. Solas is right, we should move.”

“So what do we do with the mutt?” Varric asked, “Do we just leave her here?”

Cullen glanced at the dog, who was whining and pawing gently at one of Perris’ legs under the blanket. They couldn’t just leave her here; Marigold would likely stay with the body until she died of starvation or something much more sinister. It was a difficult situation, as it was unlikely she would even follow them. Mabari were stubborn creatures and he had very little experience with them. Still, Cullen found himself thinking that he should at least try.

“Marigold.”

She lifted her head, tilted at him, and whined.

“Come.”

The dog looked confused - it was strange to think of dogs as being so expressive, but she wore her emotions as clearly as any human - and barked at him. Cullen frowned and tried again.

“Marigold, come.”

Again, no effect. She stared at Cullen, head cocked and eyes narrowed, still whining. They watched as she laid at her master’s feet, making no move to follow the command.

“Looks like she won’t come,” Harding said sadly, “We’ll have to leave her here.”

Cullen sighed, defeated by the will of a dog, and had no choice but to agree. The group moved on and a heavy silence settled over them. Perris had simply wanted to be free of the fighting, and now he was dead, left broken and unburied in the wilderness. How many more were out there right now? Dozens. Hundreds. It made Cullen’s head ache just to think on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why can't the Inquisitor get a dog? Cullen should have a dog :)


	8. down on the farm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and his group finally make it to Dennet's farm after so much trouble on the road, but things are not as they expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always thanks to everyone who takes the time to leave kudos and comments, it really keeps me motivated to know people are invested. I know I don't always get around to replying to comments, but I read every single one of them (I'll try to do better and replying too).
> 
> Also I will probably be making a few edits to earlier chapters over the next few days just to fix up a few typos and things I have noticed since initial postings.

They did not make it to the farm before dark.

Harding insisted they were close though, and they collectively agreed to keep walking. When they reached the first decrepit fence they knew they were in the right place, though it was hard to muster any excitement. The journey was mostly silent as no one was in the mood for conversation. Cullen was glad for that. He was angry and upset and it was not anyone’s fault but he felt like he would snap if anyone so much as spoke to him; he hated feeling that way.

Overhead the night sky of Thedas was a strange perversion of it’s usual self. The dark, inky blackness was not pinpointed with stars, but highlighted in sickly shades of roiling green. The Hinterlands were still relatively close to the breach, and if you looked back toward Haven you could see it still. Sometimes the lights would flicker and surge, and Cullen had come to understand this meant a rift would come to life somewhere; he felt it through the mark in his hand, a sharp burn that flared along with the sky.

They were in open fields now, rolling flat grasslands. In the distance Cullen could just make out structures in the dark, though he was worried about the lack of lights. The area was suspiciously devoid of any mages or templars. Perhaps they had all retired for the evening, rebels included? Once the sun had gone down Solas had made a single observation that the world seemed quieter. It was true that the constant echo of battle no longer permeated the air, but there was a strange tension now that had taken its place.

The flickering lights caught his eye once more. Only it wasn’t just coming from overhead, and the pain in his hand was suddenly more intense than it had been in days. It happened before Cullen even realized what he was looking at; a rift opened up before them, bathing the area in the light of the Fade as demons began to crawl from it. The spindly form of a terror demon rose up, catching sight of them immediately. It screeched, extending an arm towards their group.

“Andraste’s sagging tits,” Varric groused as he loaded Bianca, “Can’t we catch one fucking break today?”

Cullen shook his head as he drew his blade.

A half dozen demons charged them, wailing and spitting with claws and teeth and flame. Cullen felt the now familiar rush of a barrier spell from Solas - something he had never thought he would come to rely on but could now admit was invaluable - as the dwarves laid down suppressing fire to keep as many of them at bay as possible. He needed to get closer to the rift to manipulate it, but the little bastards were clustered around it tight.

To make matters worse the terror demon, undeterred by the arrows jutting from its shoulders or any protective magics, had made Cullen it’s target. It charged him, swiping wildly with it’s long sharp fingers. It pounded against his shield, and Cullen found himself being pushed back. He could not allow himself to be maneuvered away, separated from the others as it seemed to be trying to do. Cullen surged forward, putting all his weight behind his shield and knocking the thing from it’s feet.

“Cursed beast!” His blade sang through the air in a downward arc, splitting it nearly in two through the chest. Its dying screech buzzed in his ear as it disintegrated away to nothing.

Unfortunately for him, he had not noticed the second one.

A green light bloomed underneath his feet and another terror demon burst from the ground. Cullen was knocked down, landing hard on his back; his shield clattered to the dirt from the force of the impact, and he just barely maintained a grip on his sword. The terror demon took the advantage, claws tearing through the waning barrier spell and his armour, sinking home into the flesh of his arm. He grit his teeth and swallowed back a cry; he would not give it the satisfaction. It dug in until he could feel it scraping bone, pressing him down into the dirt under it’s weight and forcing him to drop his sword.

An unmistakable crossbow bolt whistled above him, embedding into one of the demon’s eyes. It screeched and reared back, leaving Cullen with an opportunity to roll away. His left arm was useless, numbed by the wound; he felt blood run down his skin and start to pool in his gauntlet. Varric was shouting at him, something about falling back, but was then drown out by the wailing of demons. These were much stronger creatures than they had faced when he had attempted to seal the breach.

The terror demon recovered quickly, snarling as it prepared to strike again. Cullen was not going to give it another chance. He summoned up his own will, remembering his templar training. It had been a few weeks now off of the lyrium, but he should still be more than capable of smiting a demon.

_Maker be with me, guide my hand and be my strength._

It had been sometime since he last felt the familiar power, the remnants of lyrium in his blood aflame with sweet song. He raised his hand, intent to banish the foul beast to whence it came, but the warmth of his faith quickly gave way to a wave of crippling pain that throbbed outwards from his palm. The mark. The slick feeling of it’s perverse magic flooded his system instead, overwhelming his senses as his knees buckled.

The terror demon seized the moment, rushing forward and wrapping one hand around his throat. Cullen wheezed as it lifted him from his feet, squeezing the air from him and crushing his armour dangerously around the soft skin of his neck. He struggled, attempted to free himself, but the demon was stronger than he would have given it’s thin frame credit for.

“CULLEN!”

His vision began to darken from the oxygen deprivation; he wasn’t even sure who had called out to him. They sounded far away, and he hoped they would all be safe. As he dangled there at the mercy of the demon he could only feel regret that he could not have done more.

 _Some Herald of Andraste I am_ , he thought dimly, _Bested by demons_.

A movement caught his eye as white spots began to prick the edges of his vision, a dark shape barreling through the darkness. It collided with them, sending both Cullen and the demon sprawling to the dirt. He coughed and sputtered, the bitter tinge of blood faintly on his tongue. Something cold and wet nudged against the side of his face, followed by an unmistakable bark.

“Marigold?!” he gasped as the mabari howled against the night, crouched low and pensive before him. She had followed them after all; Cullen had not been happier to see a dog in all his life.

He snatched up his sword with his good hand, hauling himself with great pain to his feet. The terror demon was already back up as well, hissing and spitting with Varric’s crossbow bolt still sticking from it’s bloody eye. Marigold paced back and forth, ears flat and teeth bared. Mabari were bred for war, and though he was uncertain just what kind of training she had it was apparent those instincts were strong.

The terror demon attacked again, a wide sweep of talons, but Marigold moved low and fast. She rushed underneath it’s arm and lept, clamping her jaws around one of it’s legs. It stumbled and shrieked, giving Cullen the opening he needed; with one strong swing of his sword he lopped it’s head off clean. It dissolved away like it’s kin, returning to the bright light of the rift.

_The rift._

“Help them.” He told the dog, who went barreling off towards where the others were still struggling with the rest of the demons; they just kept coming from the rift, an endless horde that did not end no matter how many they felled.

He staggered closer towards the rift, until his mark began to throb steadily with the proximity. He once again raised his hand, and braced himself for another wave of agony. As the magic poured from him, shooting into the rift and working his will, Cullen was confused at the lack of pain. He had expected the same reaction as when he had attempted to dispel the demon.

Get gone you abominations, he thought as the tear in reality began to collapse upon itself. But as Cullen thought this he felt a strange sensation run through him, and then the rift began to pulse. It shuddered once, twice, and then imploded with a bright flash. All around him he heard a cacophonous screeching and then silence. The rift was gone.

“Cullen?” Harding was running toward him, blood spattered but otherwise seemingly unharmed, “Are you alright Cullen? We tried to get to you but those things were doing one hell of a job keeping us from breaking through.”

She was breathing hard and shaking, much the same as he was. Solas and Varric joined her as well. Varric had a nasty looking gash across his forehead while Solas was limping, favouring his left side.

“They all just keeled over,” Varric said, “When you closed the rift the ones that were still out just all … fell over and poof, were gone. That didn’t happen before. What did you do, Curly?”

Nothing different that he could recall. He had managed to use it in their battle at the breach to temporarily stun some demons, perhaps this was yet another use to his mark? The thought of what it might be capable terrified him a little bit.

“I closed the rift, that’s all,” he replied, perhaps a little too harshly.

Marigold, who had been hovering around their group, moved in closer. Tentatively, Cullen noted. She was filthy and her muzzle was caked with a mixture of fresh and long dried blood, a sharp reminder of their grisly afternoon.

“The little lady’s pretty handy in a fight, I’ll give her that,” Varric knelt down so he was eye level with the mabari, “You seem much more adept at this then Hawke’s mutt for sure. Damn thing never quite did get a sense for battle.”

Marigold whined, and jumped back a little when the dwarf reached out to pet her; Harding laughed.

“I guess she doesn’t like you, Varric.”

None of them made any further attempt to physically touch the dog, and Marigold pranced around them nervously but did not run off. Cullen decided not to press the issue, to let her decide on her own if she would follow.

They took an assessment of injuries, the severest of which was Cullen’s arm. Solas patched it up as best he could - it was always a strange feeling, having muscle and skin knit back together like a torn shirt - but it still felt stiff and ached faintly. They would need to seek shelter; if another rift were to open or they were ambushed they were in poor shape to respond.

The farm was close, they could see the buildings after all, and so that was their destination.

“Marigold.” The dog perked up when Cullen spoke, ears twitching. “Come?”

He asked, not commanded - though he would admit later it felt silly asking something of a beast - and as the others began to move forward at a tentative pace Cullen posed the question again.

“Will you come girl?”

She whined louder, swinging her head back to look towards the hills - towards Perris, he realized - and pawed at the ground. Cullen stood and watched for a few moments, until he risked being too far behind the others. He sighed and turned to join them.

“You tried,” Varric clapped him on the shoulder when he caught up to the others, “Good effort, Curly.”

Cullen frowned, and as he opened his mouth to respond he felt something warm and solid brush past his leg. Marigold glanced back at him as she trotted forward, nose in the air and ears up on high alert. Cullen could not stop the grin that took over his face; something good was finally coming out of this day.

“Looks like I spoke too soon,” Varric chuckled.

“We can’t be sure the dog will stay,” Solas commented, “They are willful creatures after all.”

“If Dennet’s people are still here perhaps someone will take her in. If not, Maker help them, maybe the Crossroads. Or even Haven.”

Varric raised an eyebrow, amusement all over his features. “Don’t talk like that Curly, we all know how this is going to turn out. You think the Seeker likes dogs? I’m sure if you promise to feed her and walk her yourself she’ll let you keep her.”

Marigold huffed, as if offended, and slipped a little further ahead.

Willful creatures indeed.

+++

Cullen had a terrible sinking feeling when they approached the large farmhouse. They have not seen any signs of Dennet or his people. Not a light in a window, not the sounds of the horses that were supposed to be there. There was just an oppressive, quiet stillness that set his nerves on edge. Harding looked visibly upset at the lack of presence.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” he heard her say quietly to herself, “They could just be lying low, trying to avoid prying eyes.”

The biggest house was up on a small rise, overlooking the stables and smaller houses that presumably belonged to workers. Their boots creaked on the wooden porch, a sound that echoed in the quiet night. Marigold snuffled around in front of the door intently before she followed a scent back into the grass; she moved towards the stables, where she disappeared into the darkness.

Cullen slowly raised one fist, and after a moment of hesitation he knocked on the door.

“Master Dennet?” he called hesitantly, “Are you there?”

Silence.

“Try again,” Harding said, fidgeting with her hands.

He knocked again, harder, pounding his fist against the door. “Master Dennet? Any one?” he called, as loud as he dared, “I am Cullen Rutherford, with the Inquisition. We are not here to harm you.”

Still nothing. Marigold came back then, head low and whining softly. She sat on her haunches, just back of the group.

“What now?” Solas asked, “Should we enter?”

The likelihood of anyone still being inside the house was pretty much zero at this point. While Cullen had reservations about simply breaking into people’s homes they did need a safe place to rest for the night. He frowned and sagged his shoulders.

“I believe so. Weapons down though, if anyone is in the house I don’t want this to look like a home invasion.”

“Ok, but what if there are mages or templars or something worse waiting in there for us?” Varric countered, “I for one am sick of getting caught off guard.”

He did have a point.

“Solas can keep his staff out,” he offered, “And we have Marigold. I’m sure between them we should be fine.”

“Oh, I see. My usefulness is on par with the dog,” Solas sniffed, clearly put off.

“Solas, that’s not what I -”

“Come along then dog, let’s not keep everyone waiting. We’ve got a job to do.”

Cullen sighed, dragging a hand over his face while Varric chuckled.

The elf gently pushed the door open - Cullen was startled to see that it was unlocked, creaking on it’s hinges - and they stepped inside. It was just as dark inside, not a single lantern or candle to be seen. Solas’ magic touched at his senses as the apostate lit up the end of his staff with fire, casting a dim flickering light in the space.

“What happened here?” Varric gasped as they took in their surroundings.

The place had been torn apart. Books pulled off shelves, a writing desk and it’s contents completely flipped and strewn about; even the dining area had been ransacked. There was a patch of something dark on the floor near the stairs that Cullen knew was blood without having to look too closely. 

“Oh no.”

Harding moved towards the stain, head low. She had been so optimistic that they were alive, so sure. She knelt down, studying the blood. Cullen came to stand beside her.

“Did you know them?” he asked softly, “You mentioned growing up in the area.”

“Not Dennet, not personally. But I did know some of the people who worked the farms. I herded sheep, when I was younger, for neighbours. Couldn’t help but get to know some of the farmhands, you know? Passed on information for people when I picked it up, that’s how Sister Leliana recruited me. I just … I wanted them to be okay.”

“I’m sorry Harding,” he said softly, “We’ll find out what happened here, I promise. In the meantime we should settle for the night, get some rest. We can figure out our next move in the morning.”

As they discussed setting up a watch, Marigold suddenly stood at attention, ears swivelling towards something only she could hear. The mabari spun towards the stairs and began to growl low in her throat. Harding drew her daggers and Cullen went for his sword. He heard it then, the unmistakable creak of the floorboards from up above them; someone was in the house.

“Is someone there?” he called, “Show yourself!”

“No one will hurt you,” Harding added in abruptly, “We’re not with the mages or templars, we’re with the Inquisition! We’ve come to help!”

There was another loud creak and Marigold began to bark.

“Easy girl,” he said calmly, “Let’s not frighten anyone. It’s alright,” he called out, “She’s a good dog, nothing to be afraid of.”

Marigold tensed but went silent. At the top of the stairs there was movement, a shuffling of feet, and when Solas raised his staff to cast the light farther they finally saw a figure standing there, shaking and huddled under a blanket. Cullen thought it was a young woman by her build, though it was difficult to tell since he could not see her face.

“W-who are you,” the person called down - definitely a young woman, “You’re trespassing.”

Cullen was glad he asked for no weapons; she looked ready to bolt at any moment. “My name is Cullen. This is Varric, Harding and Solas,” he pointed to each of them, and then finally to the mabari, “This is Marigold. Don’t worry about her, she sounds mean but I think she’s actually pretty well behaved.”

The dog whuffed and dropped down on her bottom, as if to illustrate Cullen’s words.

“We aren’t here to hurt you or anything like that,” he continued, “We’re with the Inquisition, we’ve come to help where we can. Have you heard of us?”

The girl looked between them warily before nodding her head slowly. “Aye, I’ve heard of you. Dad said he got a letter before … before ....”

“Dad? Oh!” Harding looked like she’d had a sudden epiphany, “Are you Seanna?”

“How do you know my name?” she demanded in a shaky voice, “I don’t know any dwarves.”

Harding smiled sadly and shook her head. “No, we’ve never met before, but I’ve heard your name. I herded sheep around the hills here, before the fighting. I know … I knew some of the hands that worked these farms. Your names come up - you know you have more than a few admirers.”

Seanna let out a bark of surprised laughter. “Admirers. Who can think of admirers in times like these?” She eyed them curiously, taking a few cautious steps down toward them. “Inquisition you said. Dad said you were asking after horses, wanted to offer him work.”

Cullen nodded, but Harding spoke before he could. “They would be a great help to us. With faster horses we could get supply routes open, help to move soldiers where -”

“They’re all gone.”

Harding’s mouth snapped shut when Seanna interrupted, a shrill panicked voice that cut through the air like a knife. The blanket slid away from her body somewhat, and Cullen could tell she had not bathed or changed her clothes in some days. Had she eaten? Slept? There were dark circles under her wide terrified eyes.

“What happened here child?” Solas asked calmly, “Can you tell us?”

She bit her lower lip, eyes shut tightly. She sank down on to the stairs as she spoke, clutching her blanket protectively.

“Three days ago. They came to the farm, demanded that my dad surrender his mounts to Redcliff.”

“Redcliff?” Cullen exclaimed, “Who came from Redcliff?”

“They were mages. Lots of them, but … not like you,” she glanced over at Solas, who was making a strange face.

“Not elves? That is not so unusual, there are many human -”

“No, no. I don't mean like that,” she shook her head violently, as if trying to knock something loose, “We’ve seen plenty of mages around here with the fighting, but they’d kept off mostly. Templars too. We were lucky for so long.”

“How were they different, Seanna?” Harding asked as she carefully sidled up towards her. The dwarf sat on the steps just below her, offering what comfort she could while trying not to cross any boundaries.

“I … I’m a simple girl. We work the farm, tend the horses. Honest lives, you know. These people … I thought they were nobles at first. A couple of them come sometimes, from Redcliff or Denerim or farther, wanting to see the horses. You aren’t the first lot to try and coax him out of retirement either. But these were different than the usual. They dressed differently, some had an accent I’d never heard before. There were so many … and then we started noticing lots of them had staffs and potions and other weird things tucked in their belts.”

“Sounds like mages,” Varric remarked as he scratched at his chin, “But what would a group of mages want with your family’s horses?”

“Dunno … dad didn’t want to make any deals with them, said he wasn’t tied to Redcliff anymore … that’s when things went bad …”

She took a deep breath, her whole body shuddering on the exhale; Cullen could see tears pricking the corners of her eyes.

“They said if we weren’t willing to make a fair deal for the horses then they would be forced to take them. We tried to resist but we only had a handful of militia here. Nothing to stand up to so many mages. Most of the sword arms were killed, couple of the farm hands as well. We had to surrender, give up the animals, but … but …”

Her voice cracked and she started sobbing into her hands. Harding reached out tentatively, laying a hand on her knee in support. She cried for a good few minutes before she was able to continue.

“They took everyone,” she choked out, “Dad. Mom. The families that lived on the grounds. Every last one, clapped in irons to be sent back to Redcliff. Then they started rounding up all the horses to take as well.”

“How did you escape capture?”

“I … I hid. There’s a secret loft upstairs. You wouldn’t know it was there just by looking, the trap door’s built so it blends in with the roof. I didn’t want to leave them, but he made me promise I would hide.”

She broke down crying again and it was clear that she was too upset to keep talking. Harding asked the men to give them some privacy, she would see to it that Seanna got some proper rest. After the dwarf managed to coax the girl up the stairs to a bed the others quietly righted a toppled dining table so they could sit. They even found an oil lantern to light so Solas could put his staff away. Cullen had a very heavy feeling in his gut and judging by the meaningful look that Varric was giving him he wasn’t the only one.

“Curly, you know what I’m thinking, right?”

Strangely dressed mages that took people away in chains? He knew precisely what Varric was thinking and it was enough to make him sick.

“Tevinters.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit is getting real folks. Also different. Quite different.


	9. moving forward ( don't look back)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen returns to Haven to discuss the next move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the wait on this chapter, it was a bit of a struggle. I'm still not entirely happy with it, but I might come back and revise it a bit in the future. The number of rewrites was becoming ridiculous.

When the sun rose over the looming pines of the Hinterlands, Cullen had thought the night had been too long.

The others had insisted he get some rest, what with his injury and all. Of course he thought that wasn’t necessary - Solas had done an adequate job patching him up and it didn’t hurt nearly so much as it had - but ultimately he had relented and allowed the elf the first watch. Not that Cullen had actually slept or anything, good intentions aside. His mind was too occupied and the worry too thick in his gut to allow him to shut the world off. Besides, even if he could have gotten some sleep, the vivid shadows of his nightmares were always waiting to haunt him. So Cullen had laid out in his bedroll on the floor, several feet away from the snoring dwarf and the dog that made pitiful squeaking noises in it’s sleep, staring blearily up at the rafters until Solas had come for a shift change.

The elf could probably see that he had not slept but did not pry or scold him, as the others might have. He had simply nodded at him and then proceeded to settle himself for a few hours of rest.

And so there he had ended up, sitting on the creaky wooden steps at the front of the farm house, staring off into the sky. It was still cool outside and an ache was beginning to build into his bones, but there was something calming about watching the sun rise over Ferelden's country side.

It won’t be peaceful for long, he thought bitterly. The fighting would start again soon enough. Mages, templars, demons, bandits. All of them, endless. And now, it seemed, the possibility that there were people from Tevinter sniffing about. They had no concrete proof of this, only Seanna’s vague recount, but he had no reason to suspect her telling of events was faulty. If there were Tevinters here, what were they doing in Redcliff? Were they Magisters, working with the rebel mages? Were they slavers, scavenging for victims in the aftermath of the fighting? Why did they want Dennet and his horses? There were too many questions and he suspected that answers would not come swiftly. Approaching Redcliff directly would be unwise at this point, he knew. If there were Tevinter forces in the area then they could all be in a lot of danger. The others back in Haven needed to know about this.

 _Back to the Crossroads as soon as everyone is up_ , he decided firmly, _Seanna will have to come too, we can’t leave her here._

It might prove to be difficult persuading the girl to leave the farm, but it would be infinitely safer for her. He would offer her a place with the Inquisition, if she wanted. They may not have the grandest livestock, but even their subpar horses needed tending too. Who better then the daughter of a renowned horse master?

An hour later, when the sky was much brighter and Cullen felt his legs begin to cramp up, he could hear the distinct sounds of activity within the house as people were beginning to rouse themselves.

“Morning Curly,” Varric greeted as Cullen re-entered the house, “How’d you sleep?”

The dwarf looked as though he had barely slept himself, glassy eyed and sluggish. It seemed that Cullen was not the only one who was letting his worries keep him awake at night. He didn’t want to lie to him, not when the nature of their relationship was still so tenuous, so he simply shrugged; Varric chuckled and shook his head.

“Yeah. Same.”

Solas was already repacking his bedroll, and Cullen was slightly irritated to see that the elf looked fairly well rested even after splitting the watch. He smiled politely when Cullen bid him good morning. Marigold, seemingly irritated by all of the activity, slunk off out the front door into the morning air.

“We should return to the Crossroads without delay,” Cullen said, “We need to get word back to Haven of what’s happened here.”

Solas nodded in agreement. “Yes, of course. It’s very unusual to see members of the Imperium in this part of the South, particularly in any great number. Very suspicious, if accurate.”

“You got that right, Chuckles.” Varric sighed. “Been awhile since I’ve had to deal with Tevinter. Not since Broody filleted all those slavers in Kirkwall. Remember that?”

He did remember that, quite vividly. There had been a lot of paperwork and a lot of closed door meetings to sweep that under the rug. Though, really, he could have said that about anything involving Hawke or his friends.

“Yes Varric, I remember.” Cullen smiled, though he was uncertain why.

It was not long before Harding and Seanna joined them. The horsemaster’s daughter had cleaned herself up some - she’d changed her clothes and put her hair back, though there had been no water for a bath or even to wash her face. It seemed as though she had gotten at least some rest, as the circles under her eyes were not so dark and she was noticeably less jittery.

Cullen’s fears had been for naught. Seanna readily agreed to leave the farmstead with them, jumping at his offer of work. She was exceedingly grateful for the opportunity to make herself useful, to give herself to a cause that actually wanted to help people, even going so far as to apologize for her emotional display the night before; Harding had made her take that back, insisting that there was nothing wrong with grieving over the loss of her loved ones. Promising to do what she could could to aid the Inquisition, Seanna asked for only one thing in return.

_Find my family._

Cullen had given his word, on the name of Andraste herself, that he would find out what had happened to Dennet and his people. Harding and Varric seemed to approve, adding in their own pledges to aid in the search. Solas was strangely quiet. He nodded along at the sentiment, but did not add any of his own. Whatever his personal feelings on the matter were, the elf kept them to himself.

They had hoped after some rest and time that she could tell them more of what happened, but it seemed her story from last night was all she had to offer. Not wanting to upset her they did not pry her to try and remember more. Cullen would speak to her again, once they had returned to Haven and she was safe.

It was mid morning when they set out once more, back in the direction they had come. Cullen sent out a silent prayer to the Maker, asking him to watch over their journey and to give them safe passage.

+++

The trip back to the Crossroads was twice as long as their journey out.

It was late in the afternoon when the village finally came into view, and Cullen could not have been happier. There had been only one incident on the road, a small skirmish between a handful of mages and a pair of templars which they could not avoid being drawn into. Thankfully it had ended quickly and none of their party had been hurt. Seanna was a non-combatant, which meant they had to take extra care to ensure that they minimized any conflict. Harding had taken the lead again, determined to find the safest route; she seemed to take great personal offence when they had been spotted, and Varric gently teased her about it for the remainder of their journey. Seanna, on the other hand, heaped praise onto the dwarven woman for her knowledge of the land and her attention to detail. It lent some much needed lightheartedness to their conversation, for which Cullen was grateful.

When they finally arrived, Corporal Vale was standing in pretty much the same spot as when they had left, only looking twice as frazzled. Cullen had sent Harding, Varric and Seanna ahead to the Inquisition’s forward camp to muster horses for their trip back to Haven. He was uncertain how well the girl would do having to recount her story so soon and did not want to upset her unnecessarily. Marigold followed after them, seemingly uncomfortable being around so many refugees. He and Solas would speak with Vale, then rejoin their party.

“Ser Cullen!” he exclaimed in surprise as they climbed the small hill of their encampment, “You’ve returned, quicker than I thought you would.”

“Aye, that we have. I’m afraid our excursion to Master Dennet’s farm did not go as intended.”

Vale frowned. “Dead?”

“The farms were attacked by a large number of mages from Redcliff. There was a survivor there, Dennet’s daughter. We’re escorting her back to Haven where she’s agreed to work for us.”

“Maker’s breath,” Vale cursed, scrubbing his face with his palm. “Those were good people, don’t deserve this kind of end.”

“It’s worse than what you may be thinking,” Cullen continued somberly, “Seanna, the daughter, recounted what happened for us. Four days ago a group of mages came to Dennet demanding he sell them his horses. The man refused, and the mages got violent.”

“Sounds about right. Everyone’s getting violent these days.”

Solas shook his head. “These were no ordinary mages, by her telling. The girl had mistook them initially for members of nobility. Those that they did not kill they took as prisoners. We suspect that these may have been Tevinter magisters.”

Vale’s eyes went wide as he sucked in a breath. “You’re shitting me. The hell are bloody Tevinters doing in these parts?”

“We met a boy on the road. He was dying, but he told us that he had fled Redcliff after mages came to the city, said the Arl had been forced out as well. We can only agree at this point that the mages are using Redcliff as their base of operations. As for Tevinter involvement, I can only guess as to why they are here, but they must be aiding the southern mages in some way.”

“Why would free mages turn to Tevinter?” Solas muttered, half to himself, “The Imperium does not offer its assistance lightly.”

“You will need to double the watch,” Cullen said firmly, “Whatever their intentions are we cannot let our guard down. I won’t have slavers picking off refugees, not after all of this. People need to know that this place is under the Inquisition’s protection, that there is some degree of safety.”

“Slavers. Andraste’s tits.” Vale let out a long, shaky breath. “I’ll do what I can. We don’t have enough soldiers to double a watch, but we might be able to recruit some of the refugees to the cause. There are a lot of able bodied lads and lasses here, sure they’ll wanna pick up a sword knowing there are Tevinter slavers skulking about.”

“We will be returning to Haven to discuss our next move,” Cullen said, “I will see what resources we can spare you in the meantime.”

“Appreciate it, Ser. I’ll see what use I can make of the lot we have here as well. Before you go, there is some news I have for you in regards to those tracks leading off to the west. The scouts returned not an hour before you.”

“What did they find?” he demanded, “Were they able to find the person who had murdered Ser Amelie?”

“Not specifically. They traced the tracks back to a large templar encampment in the western wood. Looked like the bulk of their forces were gathering there. Couldn’t risk getting too close, there were just too many, but the scouts did bring back this.” Vale produced a sheet of parchment, carefully folded and stained with blood, from his belt. “They took down a small group that was heading toward the camp, found this on one of them.”

Cullen carefully unfolded the note and began to read aloud.

“Notice to all Brothers and Sisters of the Order. Abandon your fight, though it be righteous, and report immediately to Therinfal Redoubt else face the shame of exile and death. By order of Lord Seeker Lucius Corin.”

“The Lord Seeker calls them back?” Solas questioned, “To what purpose?”

Therinfal Redoubt. That was not a name Cullen had heard in a long time, nor was it one he was overly familiar with. All he really knew was that it had once been a training facility that the Seekers of Truth used to train, but had been abandoned long ago. Occasionally he would hear talk of reclaiming it for Templar use, but nothing had ever come of it. Until now, it seemed.

“Dunno, but if it means they’re leaving then all’s the better,” Vale said, “The scouts watched the camp movements for a short time, and they’re under the impression that the Templars are falling back, as the note orders.”

Was the Order finally coming to it’s senses? Cullen could only hope, but he had to remain cautious. Why would the Lord Seeker call them to Therinfal Redoubt, of all places? Why not back to the Spire in Val Royeaux? So many questions.

They bid Vale farewell after that to rejoin the others. Cullen was anxious to get back to Haven and try to piece together what this all meant. Here he thought this was going to be a quick trip to speak with a Chantry mother and procure some faster horses. Now there were possible Tevinter magisters in the picture and a murder to avenge that involved his former compatriots and motivations he couldn’t seem to wrap his mind around.

It made his head spin to think about it.

+++

Word of the Herald’s actions in the Hinterlands reached Haven long before he did. When Cullen and his small party rode through the gates there were already people waiting to welcome them back, wanting to hear more about their efforts in ‘liberating the Crossroads’. Cullen was immediately embarrassed by the attention, insisting that he had only done what was right while a pair of young ladies went on about how brave he was.

Thankfully Varric was firmly in his element and offered to spin the whole tale for the eager crowds at the tavern as soon as he’d had a drink. Cullen used the dwarf’s distraction to slip away towards the Chantry building, pledging to buy the man a drink at the next available opportunity.

Harding had taken Seanna to get settled in, and possibly to avoid reporting back to Leliana for as long as possible. Solas had slipped away as well, though not many people seemed to pay enough attention to the elf to notice. He had been quiet, since the farm really, and Cullen had a suspicion that something was bothering him. Perhaps he should try and speak with him later.

As he approached the Chantry Marigold came up to his side, pressing against his left leg as she walked with him. Cullen let his hand fall to scratch behind her ears. She allowed it without any fuss, making a small noise that he could not identify. Was that irritation or satisfaction? It was hard to tell. Regardless, Marigold seemed to have warmed up to him and Cullen was beginning to think having a Mabari around wouldn’t be a bad idea. There had been intentions to perhaps see if anyone would take her in at the Crossroads, but that had been forgotten promptly during his talk with Vale. And now, well, it would be cruel to pass her off onto someone else, wouldn’t it? Especially now that she seemed to be warming up to him.

Mabari chose their masters, or so he had heard.

And so the dog trotted at his heels as he entered the makeshift war room, and Cullen had a brief thought that maybe he should have tried to give her a bath before bringing her in here. Or maybe taken her to wait in his quarters.

“Cullen! You’re back - why is there a mabari in here?”

“Ugh, that thing is filthy. And it stinks.”

Marigold barked once and then flopped down onto the carpet, sending up a cloud of dirt and hair; Cassandra, Leliana and Josephine all looked personally offended, turning sharp eyed glares in his direction.

“Uh … this is Marigold,” he replied sheepishly, “I, um … I might have adopted her. Or maybe it’s the other way around. I am uncertain.”

Marigold made a soft noise and stretched out her legs, promptly falling into a contented sleep.

“Are you going to be bringing back stray animals every time you go out on a mission?” Cassandra asked with a scowl.

“Ah, now this is the Cullen Rutherford I remember! Never could resist anyone that made sad dog eyes at you, even an actual dog it seems.”

Another voice rang from behind him, jovial and loud. Distinctly familiar. Cullen turned to see a man leaning in the door frame, arms folded across his chest. He wore a travel stained cloak over a battered set of armor that bore the sigil of the Templar Order, dulled with wear and the road. A grin stretched across his tattooed face and Cullen could not help but mirror it.

“Rylen?”

“Good to see you again, Cullen,” he said in that thick Starkhaven accent of his, “It’s been a while.”

Knight-Captain Rylen of the Starkhaven templars. They had met some months ago during rebuilding efforts in Kirkwall, when Rylen had been coordinating rescue and aid efforts in the wake of the Chantry explosion. The two of them had worked closely together for some time, up until the Starkhaven templars had been called back to their own city when the fighting with the rebel mages began to intensify.

“What brings you to Haven?”

Rylen was a good man; likeable, if a bit prone to brutal sarcasm, and an excellent swordsman to boot. They’d fought in more than a few skirmishes together in Kirkwall during those hectic days of rebuilding. The people under his command had respected him, and Cullen knew him to be a fair but persistent leader.

There was only one reason why he would be here now.

“Got a letter from your lovely spymaster here about a sudden vacancy,” Rylen said, “Something about a Ferelden fellow who went and got himself into a spot of trouble and would no longer be able to fill the position.”

“Ser Rylen has graciously accepted our offer of employment,” Leliana said, “Though we were not expecting you to arrive for another two days.”

“Yes, well, neither was I. Ah, where do I even start …” The other man scrubbed a hand through his short, dark hair - a nervous habit, Cullen knew from their time together. He moved from the doorway and began a short pace back and forth in front of their war table.

“I’m afraid I’ve come a lot more shorthanded then I was intending,” he continued, “When we left the Free Marches I had a few dozen templars with me - all the ones who still had sense and didn’t run off barking at the moon - and a modest amount of supplies. When we arrived in Ferelden there was a confrontation.”

“How do you mean?” Cassandra asked, “Speak plainly, Commander.”

Commander. Cullen couldn’t help but flinch a little.

 _Rylen is a good man_ , he reminded himself, _He will do good work._

For his part, Rylen did not even seem to notice the casual use of his new title. “Ah, my apologies Lady Seeker, I’d not thought myself to be anything but plain. Not long after we made landfall our group was stopped by a number of Ferelden templars who were in the area. They were very insistent that we, ah how did they put it, ‘remember our sacred duties and join them at the Redoubt’.”

“Therinfal Redoubt?” Cullen asked, “That’s what they said?”

Rylen nodded. “Aye. They said that all templars must hear the call and serve, et cetera et cetera. You know of this place, Cullen? I’d never heard of it.”

Of course he would not have. The place was barely in the knowledge of Ferelden templars, let alone those from other nations.

“Therinfal Redoubt is long abandoned,” Cassandra spoke up, her scowl deeper than usual, “It was once an old stronghold of the Seekers, a place where intense training was done. Why would a group of templars be going there?”

Cullen produced the note that Vale had given him and handed it over to Cassandra.

“It seems that all templars are being called there, on the order of the Lord Seeker himself. Scouts in the Hinterlands obtained this note from a body, and reported that they were gathering in large numbers to the west. It seems that many of them are answering this summons.”

Cassandra seemed baffled by the note, glaring at it with an equal mix of confusion and anger. “Why would Seeker Lucius do this? Why call the templars out to this remote location?”

“A very good question,” Rylen said, “One I had asked myself to these templars who confronted us. They wouldn’t give a decent answer of course, only that we were to simply obey and follow them. As you can imagine, I did not take kindly to that.”

“And what happened then?”

“Precisely what you would expect. When it was clear we would not follow, it came to blows. We had a slight numbers advantage, but we were weary from travel and these men were … there was something queer about the way they fought. I would say they were men possessed, but I know what a possessed man feels like. Something was driving them, something just out of my reach to pinpoint.” Rylen took a breath. “There were heavy casualties on both sides. Myself and a handful of others managed to drive them off and escape. I regret having to leave the dead behind, but I wanted to save as many still living as I could. Bloody insanity is what that was. _Senseless_.”

Another thing that Cullen had admired about the other man - his compassion for those who he served with. He had no doubt that Rylen was still mourning every loss.

“We had to abandon the supplies of course, drove our horses near to death to get here as soon as we could. Didn’t want to take the chance we’d run into more of them.”

Cullen felt sick to his stomach. Templars attacking each other. Murdering each other. Had the entire world gone mad?

“I am glad that you made it safely,” Cullen said somberly, “It’s clear that something is not right within the Order, and it may fall to us to get to the bottom if it. However I’m afraid our troubles do not end with the templars.”

And so Cullen gave them the details of the events at Dennet’s farm, about all he had learned involving the mages, Redcliff and the likely involvement of the Tevinter Imperium.

“Tevinter magisters? Are you certain, Herald?” Josephine asked with wide eyes, “It’s unusual for anyone from the Imperium to be this far south. The political implications alone ….”

“I am as certain as I can be.”

“This is not good,” Leliana added, “We have the templars withdrawing to a secluded old fortress and acting strangely. The mages getting into bed with Tevinter. At this point neither are likely to put down their issues and aid us in sealing the breach.”

“What are our options then?” Rylen asked, “As I understand it, the mark on Cullen’s hand won’t seal the breach on it’s own.”

“That’s correct. Our early attempt proved that we need to either increase it’s power or weaken the breach somehow. Unfortunately the Inquisition is also being denounced by the Chantry, which is hurting our efforts to gain traction with either of these groups.”

“If we wish to make progress, we must first address our problems with the Chantry,” Josephine said pointedly, “Now that Mother Giselle has arrived and declared her support for us, she’s promised to provide a list of those within that might also be sympathetic.”

“And what good will this do us?” Leliana snapped, “Why should we cow to them when-”

“What choice do we have, Leliana?” Cassandra shouted back at her, “We have nothing right now except for a town of grateful refugees and the few mages and templars who have not lost their minds to this foolishness. No one can see the danger in front of them because they are blinded by their old hatreds.”

“And if Cullen were to simply walk into Val Royeaux they would arrest him on sight.”

“Wait, you want me to go to Val Royeaux?” This was not a plan he liked the sound of. “You can’t be serious.”

“As Mother Giselle says, the only strength the Chantry has is their united opinion. If you were to address the clerics yourself then it would show that we are serious in our intention and that you are not the monster they think you to be.”

Rylen made a disapproving noise. “And you just want to ignore the obvious danger in that?”

“If Mother Giselle could use what influence she has to call the clerics together and allow us entry into the city then it is a risk we must take.” Cassandra took a steadying breath and glanced in Cullen’s direction. “I will go with him.”

Cullen blinked at her, momentarily taken aback. “You will?”

“I …” she frowned, eyes darting down to her boots. “I have perhaps been too hasty in my judgments, Cullen. I should not have so easily dismissed your help, especially using your contacts as a resource.”

“Does this mean that you believe me?”

“I cannot be one hundred percent certain, not yet anyways. But you have proven yourself to be a man of convictions and one who has dedicated himself to our cause. I will stand by you, until a time would come that I cannot.”

Cullen was uncertain if that was a compliment, but coming from a woman like Cassandra is was just as good. A small amount of relief filled him with the knowledge that she was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. Or at least as much as she could, anyways. He was willing to forgive her hostilities; it was a difficult situation to be in and he would probably have reacted in a similar manner.

“Thank you, Cassandra. If you are willing to walk into the viper’s nest with me then perhaps we will stand a chance after all.”

Leliana sighed, still clearly unconvinced of this plan. “If you wish to see this through Herald then I will make the arrangements with Mother Giselle. In the meantime, if we cannot yet approach either mages or templars I would still like to have a better understanding of their intentions. I will send spies to infiltrate their ranks, and scouts to monitor external movements. Oh, and by the way, the next time you decide to pilfer my lead scout you had better find me a suitable replacement.”

Oh, right. She was probably angry about that.

“Leliana, I merely -”

“Harding is a good woman with incredible potential. Do not squander her or else I will be genuinely upset. Nobody wants that.”

Cullen swallowed a lump in his throat and nodded.

“Good. And I am not kidding about a replacement. I wanted Harding to coordinate all of our field scouts, but if she’s going to be off with you I can’t rely on her for that.”

He hadn’t thought of it that way. Perhaps he should find out if that was what Harding even wanted.

“I will let her decide what she wants,” Cullen said, “I don't want to force her into anything she’ll regret just because she thinks she can’t say no.”

“Okay, good. Then everything is settled!” Josephine said with way too much enthusiasm, “The Herald will go to Val Royeaux.”

Rylen chuckled and shook his head. “Maker, I’ve been here for ten minutes and I already think you’re all crazy. Looking forward to working with you all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition has it's new Commander :) In case you have forgotten who Rylen is, he's the snarky guy with with wonderful Starkhaven accent in Griffon Wing Keep. He's one of those minor characters that I desperately wanted to know more about, but there is basically nothing so i will have to make a lot of it up as I go along. I hope you enjoy my take on him and his tenure as Commander.
> 
> inquisitorbird.tumblr.com


	10. interlude - a reason to stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric has letters to write, if only he wasn't constantly interrupted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short interlude chapter. Though this story is mainly from Cullen's perspective I plan to have occasional chapter from other character's POVs.
> 
> Also, I was recently laid off from my job so now I have more free time than usual. It sucks, but on the upside at least I will have some more time for writing.

 

Varric stared at the piles of parchment before him and sighed. So many letters to write, to read, to burn - there were not enough hours in the day. The sun had vanished some hours ago, and along with it most of Haven.

The tavern was nearly empty at this hour, just a few dedicated drunks and a pair of harrowed-looking templars that had arrived that afternoon with their new Commander. The bard was still there, plucking absently at her lute and humming tunelessly. Flissa, the tavern owner, was humming along as she wiped down a mountain of filthy glassware. She would come by every so often, wordlessly swapping out his empty tankard for a full one.

Varric liked the quiet. It helped with the word flow, even when it was the dreary business of correspondence instead of the excitement of working on a book. When he’d returned from his trip to the Hinterlands - and boy, what a fun time that had been - there had been letters waiting for him in the small room he had commandeered for himself. One was simply from one of his business associates in Kirkwall, wanting to know how this breach was going to affect their margins; he had yet to decide whether he would respond or toss it to the flames.

Two more, however, had him worried.

One, from Hawke. He and Fenris were … somewhere. The details of their location were never given, just in case the letter had been compromised, but Varric had a pretty good idea of where they were going. Weisshaupt, the great fortress of the grey wardens. Hawke did not give any new information, it was just a check in to reassure the dwarf they were still alive. Still, there was something about it that just set him on edge but he couldn’t quite figure out what it was.

The second letter was what really gave him pause. It was rare that Aveline wrote to him personally, but there was no mistaking the neat blocky letters that bore his name when he had picked it up. Last they had spoke, before he had left Kirkwall to make the journey to the conclave, the good captain had been finalizing plans to get Carver Hawke out of the city when the templars had started acting strangely. Junior had protested a lot, insisting that he was both a grown man and templar and could take care of himself.

_Carver is gone._

Up and vanished the night before they were to go, along with the last of Kirkwall’s templars who had lingered in the city. Aveline and her guardsman could find no trace of them, as if they had never been there in the first place. Varric could feel the regret in her words, even though they were just ink stains on parchment.

“Shit,” he muttered, dragging a hand over his face, “What is with that kid, always something to prove.”

As if that were not concerning enough, there was more to her letter. Aveline had received reports that Sebastian Vael, the rightfully returned Prince of Starkhaven, was mustering his forces as if to march. It was unclear what his intentions were, but Varric had a pretty good idea. Choir-boy did not leave them under the best of circumstances. He was furious that Hawke had let blondie live and had vowed to hunt him down. The dwarf was not unsympathetic to his feelings; Anders had killed someone who was a mother-figure to him, along with countless others he had lived and worked with. That was the kind of bad blood that stained you for the rest of your life. But would he turn that rage against Kirkwall? Surely he knew that the people still living there were not to blame.

He sighed, pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and began to write.

_Aveline -_

_Good to see that the shit keeps piling up in Kirkwall even when I’m not there to wade through it. I’m glad you are there to keep the city propped up though, or else it might fall off into the sea under all of that extra weight._

_I’ll send word to my contacts to keep an eye out. Could be Junior’s just run off in a hissy fit that -_

“Varric.”

The dwarf startled, quill streaking a messy line of ink across his page; he’d have to start over. When he glanced up he was surprised to see Seeker Pentaghast standing over his table. She was a polite enough distance away as to likely not be able to see what he was writing. Varric cleared his throat, a little embarrassed that he had been caught off guard, and nonchalantly shuffled his letters together so that a report on his family’s finances lay on top.

“Ah, Seeker. My apologies, I was caught up in some paper work and didn’t see you come in.”

Cassandra glanced at the pile of letters, eyes briefly roaming over the numbers that held no interest for her. She waved a hand at him and the letters went unregarded. Perhaps it was careless of him to have them out in the open like this, not when Hawke’s whereabouts were such a hot topic of debate these days.

“No need for apologies Varric, I am sorry if I startled you.”

She settled on the bench across from him, arms folded neatly on the wooden tabletop that separated them. It was odd to see her out this late in the evening; The Seeker was a notoriously ‘early to bed, early to rise’ sort of person. But here she was, still in her full armour, sword and shield slung across her back.

“What brings you out here at this time of night, Seeker?” he asked with the most charming grin he could muster, “Long past your bed time, is it not?”

Cassandra looked mildly irritated, though it was difficult to tell if that was directed at him since she was always at least mildly irritated with something in his experience.

“Truthfully, I was looking for you. Leliana suggested that I might find you here.”

Ah. Of course the Nightingale would know his every movement.

“It’s a small town,” Varric shrugged, “It’s not that hard to find someone if you really want to. So, Seeker, now that you’ve found me what can I do for you? If you’re looking for a late night paramour then I would be happy to -”

“Ugh, enough,” she cut him off and Varric could not help but chuckle, “I simply wished to speak with you.”

“Just teasing Seeker,” he winked and she scowled, “How can I help you?”

Cassandra rolled her shoulders and sighed. “I simply wanted to tell you that you are free to go. Now that … now that the Divine is dead, there is no reason for you to be here any longer.”

So that was it. Varric frowned and took a long sip from his tankard.

“Do you really think so little of me, Seeker?”

The look on her face was priceless. It was not often you saw Cassandra Pentaghast look shocked, but there it was, just for a moment.

“I don’t know what you -”

“You know exactly what I mean. You must not think very much of me if you think that I’m going to run off now. I am as selfish and irresponsible as the next guy, but even I can’t ignore what’s happening here. Thousands of people died and now there’s a hole in the sky. Do you want me to just walk away from that?”

A tense silence filled the air between them. Varric was uncertain where this burst of self righteousness had come from, but it felt good to get off his chest. He knew that people questioned his intentions, that the humans particularly seemed to be under the impression that he was going to bolt for Kirkwall any day now. Or maybe disappear into the night to join up with the Champion, as some whispers suggested.

“I did not think you cared so much,” Cassandra said finally, “You are constantly making crude jokes and reinforcing the fact that you were once my prisoner -”

“Once until very recently, let’s not forget ourselves.”

“You came here voluntarily, Varric,” she snapped, “I asked you to come to the conclave to speak with Justinia, I do not recall clapping you in irons.”

“I don’t know if ‘asked’ is the correct word. I recall it was more of a harsh demand on your part,” he could see the anger rising in her eyes, so Varric held up his hands, “Okay, okay. For what it’s worth, yes I came with you under my own power, even if slightly duressed. And yes, I make jokes, it’s how I cope with this increasingly fucked up world. But don’t think that means I’m not serious, because I am.”

Her expression softened fractionally. “I am giving you an out here. This does not have to be your fight, you are free to go back to Kirkwall. The rebuilding efforts -”

“Are not going to be impacted by the absence of one dwarf. I appreciate what you are trying to do here, Seeker, but I’m afraid that it’s not going to work. I’m choosing to make this my fight, whether you want me here or not.”

She made a disgusted noise under her breath and Varric could not help but grin.

“Very well you stubborn fool, have it your way.”

“I will, thank you. Anyways, you shouldn’t be turning your nose up at people who want to help you, the Inquisition isn’t exactly over encumbered with allies right now. I bet Curly will be happy to have my help.”

Well, he might be. Cullen was a difficult guy to read, even now that he’s a much more tolerable person than he was in those early days in Kirkwall.

“Do you think that he was really sent by Andraste?”

Varric was not prepared for the question. Cassandra was staring down at her hands, fingers twitching against the tabletop. It was no secret that the Seeker had openly blamed Cullen for the explosion, though lately she seemed to be reconciling with him. Hell, he’d been there on that first attempt to seal the breach, seen first hand her animosity and contempt. It was difficult to accept that the man who may have killed so many people could also be this Herald of Andraste, sent by Her mercy to save them all.

Varric was having a tough time doing it himself.

“I don’t know,” he replied finally, “Maybe. I guess. Would Andraste or the Maker really send a guy like Curly to save us? All we know is he stepped out of the Fade and now he has this crazy mark on his hand that can seal rifts. Either he is being guided by a higher power or he has the worst luck in all of Thedas. And that’s saying something, considering the people I’ve known.”

Cassandra made a small noise in her throat, then met his eye once again. “Hmm. You make a good point.”

It was a strange thing, that she would ask him about this. They weren’t exactly friends, though maybe after this they could work towards that. It would be nice not to have to walk on eggshells around the woman in fear of getting arrested again. Still, to have her speak of such a personal thing was not what Varric would have ever expected.

Against his better judgement he asked, “Do you believe in him, Seeker?”

“I want to,” she answered, the indecision clear in her tone, “I want to believe that the man I met in Kirkwall was not the same one to commit mass murder.”

That was a sentiment he was familiar with.

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

Something uncomfortable settled between them, and Cassandra very suddenly stood up. There was an agitated look on her face, and Varric thought that maybe they were crossing into territory that neither was ready to speak on.

“I should go,” she said, “If you truly wish to stay with the Inquisition, then your help will be appreciated. Perhaps this will be an opportunity for us to move on from … this.”

She gestured in the space between them and he knew exactly what she meant. There had been a lot of animosity between them, angry words and accusations and truths that Varric could never tell her. Truths she hadn’t earned. But maybe there was room to move on. Maybe they could just let it be and actually interact like normal people.

Wouldn't that be something?

“I’m game if you are, Seeker.” He winked and she rolled her eyes; he caught the faintest upturn of her lips and it made him want to laugh.

“Goodnight, Varric.”

Cassandra left the tavern without another word, striding out the front door with the same urgency she carried in everything she did. Varric watched her go, slumping in his seat when she was out of sight. There had been a tension in his shoulders that he hadn’t realized was there, only acknowledging it now as it began to slide away.

The weight of secrets, as Isabela had once described before giving him the best massage he’d ever had in his life. Platonically speaking, of course.

Once he was sure that the Seeker was in fact not coming back he pulled his letters out again. He wanted to finish these before he went to bed. The one he had started to write to Aveline was ruined, a thick dark smudge nearly tearing the paper in two. He frowned at it, slipped it into the ‘to burn’ pile, and pulled out a fresh sheet. Time to start again.

_Aveline -_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inquisitorbird.tumblr.com


	11. Val Royeaux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and his party embark for Val Royeaux. Marigold fails to get a proper bath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. So ... it's been a while. 
> 
> Lately I have had a lot of renewed interest in writing this, so surprise, here is an update I'm sure no one thought was coming. Does anyone still care about this? Probably not :)

“Marigold, stay!”

A chorus of loud, obnoxious barking filled the early morning air.

“I said stay!”

Cullen scowled as the mabari ran circles around the trees surrounding the stables, pointedly ignoring his commands. He felt stupid, standing there with a basin of rapidly cooling water and a handful of rags while people around him quietly laughed about the Herald’s inability to control the animal.

A Ferelden who had no sense for dogs. _Hilarious._

Josephine had been firm that Marigold was not allowed into the Chantry building again until she’d had a bath, which Cassandra and Leliana had agreed with. And so here he was, unable to get the beast within five feet of warm water, let alone clean her up. She was pacing back and forth by the horses now, lips pulled back in the equivalent of a smug doggy grin.

“You’re enjoying this, aren't you?” he called, hands up in the air in irritation.

“Well, at least one of you should be enjoying yourselves.”

Cullen dropped the rags in surprise, unaware that someone had been right behind him. Rylen appeared at his side, a wide amused grin on his face. He was out of the battered armour he’d been wearing yesterday, now in dark leather breeches and a sturdy wool coat. His nose and cheeks were pink against the morning cold, and interesting colour contrast against his scars and facial tattoos.

“Morning, Commander,” he said, finding it surprisingly easy to use his title without feeling bad for himself.

“None of that Commander nonsense from you, Cullen,” he said, the slightest hint of embarrassment in his tone, “It’s gonna be hard enough getting used to it as it is.”

“But you are the Commander now. People will call you that.”

“Yeah, true, but that’s for the soldiers. I’d like to think that we’re still friends on a first name basis after all that shite we went through in Kirkwall.”

Those early days of rescue and rebuilding were very difficult. Rylen and his men had been such a welcome bolster to their ranks, he’s not sure they would have survived without them. They’d formed a real friendship during that time working together, something that Cullen had very little of in his life.

“Of course we are,” he said, unable to stop a grin of his own, “Very well then. Good morning Rylen. How was that?”

“Not bad,” the other man sniffed, “A bit formal for my liking, but we can work on it.”

They watched as Marigold went tearing off towards the frozen lake. Cullen sighed, shoving his hands into the pockets of his own coat.

“That is your dog, right?” Rylen asked, clearly amused.

“Sort of.”

“And here I thought all the Ferelden Dog Lords had absolute kinship with their beasts. Mabari choose their masters for life and all that.”

“That’s rich, coming from a Starkhaven man who’s allergic to fish.”

“Hey now, that’s a low blow Cullen,” he said with feigned offense, “It’s not my fault eighty percent of the food in Starkhaven destroys my insides. Don’t worry though, I’m sure all this bland Ferelden food will sit well with me.”

They laughed. People stared and somewhere, off in the wilderness, Marigold let out a series of wild howls. This was good. It almost made him forget about all of the bullshit that was happening in his life.

“Rylen.”

“Hmm?”

“I am glad you’re here.”

The Commander blinked at him, wiping away laughter-induced tears. He let out a long breath that clouded in the cold air, his expression turning somewhat serious.

“I’m happy to be somewhere that I can make a difference in this madness. Sacred duties are all well and good, but someone needs to do some real work every now and then.”

That was a sentiment that Cullen could echo. The Order was going down a strange, dark road, to a place that Cullen could only guess at. It made him fearful, despite being removed from the situation.

“Have you left the Order?”

Rylen crossed his arms over his chest, a thoughtful look on his face. “I suppose for now. Couldn’t stay, not with all of that nonsense. Even in Starkhaven it was everywhere. Whole groups of people I thought I knew just up and running off in the night. I didn’t understand it. I still don’t.”

“Neither do I.”

“Getting that letter was a blessing, let me tell you. Prince Vael wasn't too pleased though, not when I told him the last of his templars were joining the Inquisition.”

Cullen had little interaction with Sebastian Vael in Kirkwall, but he had known the man to be unshakable in his beliefs and hard in his convictions. He had gone back to Starkhaven after the explosion at the Chantry, and Cullen had heard through rumour that he cursed Hawke’s name for letting the apostate Anders live that day.

Anders. Just thinking the name makes something cold and angry clench in his stomach. He had been trying to be better, to not look at mages like they were all rabid dogs ready to snap at him. Not Anders though. He would always deserve that old hatred for what he had done.

“I can imagine,” he said quietly as he clenched a fist at his side, “But you are here, so clearly he saw the wisdom in letting you leave.”

Rylen scratched at the stubble on his chin, suddenly very interested in whatever was happening across the lake.

“Ah, well. I don’t know if I would say that.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Rylen let out a puff of air, scuffed at the dirt with the sole of his boot. “Like I said, the Prince was none too happy when I said we were leaving. He, uh, actually forbade us to come here.”

Cullen could feel his eyebrows raising into his hairline. “He forbade you? You were grown men and women. Surely you have the right to make your own choices.”

“The Vael family has ruled Starkhaven for six generations, and they’ve always been in deep with the Chantry. One in the same, practically. He sees these abandonments as betrayals of duty, and if we were to leave the Chantry behind then we were leaving everything behind. When I said I was going to leave for Haven, to join the Inquisition for a time, well that was the last straw.”

“You aren’t saying what I think you’re saying, are you?”

The look on Rylen’s face said more than words ever could.

“He exiled us from Starkhaven. Every last templar.”

Cullen was floored. Sebastian had really done such a thing?

“Don’t look so dour, Cullen,” Rylen spoke up, unusually upbeat after revealing something so serious, “It’s not the end of the world.”

“Not the end of the world? You were exiled, Rylen. That’s a pretty big deal.”

“Okay, yes, I suppose. Right now though, it doesn’t matter. We’ve come here to work with the Inquisition, and I intend to see it through to the end. Whatever end that might be. After we’ve sealed that breach and settled all of the chaos, well I think I’ll have a pretty good argument for letting us return, wouldn't you say?”

“Do the others know?”

“Hmm, well, I’m sure the spymaster knows everything. Terrifying woman, by the way. Hell, she probably knew it would happen before I did, but she hasn’t mentioned it in either case. I haven’t brought it up to anyone else though, you’re the first. I’ve also asked those who came with me to keep quiet on the matter for now as well.”

“I’m honoured, I suppose.”

He was smiling still and Cullen did not know how he could do it. Starkhaven was his home. Cullen remembered back in Kirkwall, when Rylen and his men had arrived, how he had spoken about the city with such pride. How could he be so nonchalant about this when he clearly loved his homeland? He sighed and settled a hand on his shoulder.

“If there is anything I can do for you, just name it. If we need to lay siege to the city just to make Sebastian Vael see reason, I would not be opposed.”

“Well I would. Have you seen the state of our forces? These recruits are so green they’ve got trees growing out of their ears. Lots of work to keep me busy here.”

It was in that moment that Marigold came barreling back towards them. Cullen could only watch in horror as the dog made a mighty leap, clearing several feet before landing in the tub that was now chilled from the frosty air. The force of the impact sent all of the water splashing against both men.

“Maker’s balls!” Rylen shouted as he got a face full of it, “I ought to make a rug out of you, mutt!”

Marigold sat in the tub, tongue lolling out of her mouth as she panted happily. Cullen just stood there, soaked to his underclothes, blinking stupidly at the mabari. Everyone within eyeshot was howling with laughter at the sight of the Herald and the Commander dripping in the morning sunlight.

“Bad dog.”

+++

They left for Val Royeaux that afternoon.

It was almost a week of travel to get there, and Cullen grew increasingly anxious as they got closer to the city. Mother Giselle had sent her letters well ahead of them, and a bird caught them when they passed into Orlais bearing news that they would be granted leave to enter the city. That was at least one less thing to worry about.

Cullen had brought only a small party with him. Cassandra, as she had promised, as well as Varric.

Scout Harding was being put in charge of efforts at Redcliff, since Leliana had yet to find a replacement and the dwarf was the best person suited for the job. She’d seen him off at the gates and wished him luck, promising that they would get to the bottom of what was going down in the Hinterlands. Cullen had also asked Solas to come along, but the elf had declined the invitation. There was research he wanted to do in regards to the breach and demon activity. Also, he had suggested it would likely be unwise to bring an elven apostate into the capital of Orlais to meet with members of the Chantry, and left it at that. Cullen was not the most perceptive man when it came to these sorts of things, but he was pretty sure something was bothering the elf. He resolved to have a talk with Solas when he returned.

Marigold had to be left behind as well. The mabari would not have been a welcome addition to a delicate negotiation, and was last seen sulking by the stables. Seanna had promised to keep an eye on her, as she seemed to be one of the few people that Marigold did not actively dislike.

When the city finally came into view Cullen was left speechless. He had never been to Val Royeaux before, or even Orlais itself really. The only time he had left Ferelden was when he was sent to Kirkwall.

“Not a bad sight, eh Curly?” Varric had teased when he noticed him staring open mouthed at the great White Spire. “Let’s just hope it’s as pretty up close.”

The gates were open when they approached, huge, towering columns of marble and steel that made Cullen feel small. What truly bothered him was the fact that there was no one in sight. No Orlesian guards. No foot traffic of any kind. Silence, save for bird song and the gentle lap of water.

“This city is still in mourning over the loss of the Divine, “ Cassandra said as they walked the bridge towards the city proper, “I do not anticipate an overly warm welcome.”

“No kidding,” Varric grumbled, “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

Cassandra rolled her eyes and made a noise of disgust. He was about to tell them to keep the bickering to themselves when an unmistakable sound caught his ear - the distinct clattering of armor on the march.

“Oh shit,” Varric exclaimed, “Are those templars?”

Cullen nodded grimly. “Most assuredly.”

There was no mistaking the proud sigil of his former order, stark against gleaming platemail in the mid afternoon light. There were several dozen of them, likely an entire regiment, all moving towards them.

“Did the letters not say we would be allowed entry unharmed?”

“They did,” Cassandra replied tersely, “We were to be allowed access unmolested to speak with a council of Clerics.”

As the group drew nearer, Cullen could see a single man at the head.

“Maker’s breath,” he could not stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth, “Samson?”

It had been some time since he had last seen the man, not since he had fled in the night with many of Kirkwall’s templars. He looked almost healthy again, eyes sharp and alert as they raked over his own appearance. A strange feeling tugged at his mind, something that he felt he should remember that was just out of his grasp.

“Samson. Isn’t he the one from Low Town that Hawke -”

“Yes, he is. At Hawke’s insistence I recommended to Meredith that he be reinstated to the Order. He was there, in that last battle.”

“Yeah,” Varric said flatly, reaching for his crossbow, “I remember.”

The templars came to a halt in front of them. Samson grinned lazily when they met eyes, stepping forward ahead of the others. Was he in command of this group? The man must have risen in the ranks since his departure from Kirkwall.

“Rutherford. And here I thought all the rumors were just bullshit. Glad to see you alive though.”

“It’s good to see you again as well.” Cullen managed a smile. “It’s been some time since we last spoke.”

Samson tilted his head, a strange look on his face; it made Cullen uneasy.

“What is this?” Cassandra demanded suddenly,brandishing the letters from Mother Giselle in a tight fist, “We were given leave to enter into this city unharmed.”

“Aye, that you have been. Consider this a simple matter of shit timing,” Samson said as he glanced at the Seeker, “I’ve no orders to stop any of you, and somewhere to be rather promptly.”

A quiet murmuring could be heard from within the ranks and Cullen began to feel somewhat uneasy.

“You’re going to Therinfal Redoubt.”

It was not a question, and the look of surprise on Samson’s face was almost comical.

“How do you know about that?”

“We’ve heard of it from others. All of those loyal to the order are to gather at the Redoubt or face exile, correct?” Cullen replied. “To what end? Why is the Lord Seeker recalling the templars to-”

“These are not concerns of yours!” A voice from within the ranks of Templars shouted. “You abandoned and betrayed the Order. You murdered the Divine and have the brass ones to call yourself a Herald of Andraste.”

Cullen remembered the words of Ser Amelie before she was so cruelly taken, how much hostility she had borne towards him. The resentment of the templars ran deep, so much that he has become a villain in their eyes.

“Hold your tongue, it’s not worth the hot air,” Samson snapped back.

A different voice chimed in; Cullen could not tell who was speaking. “We should arrest them. Take him back to the Chantry Mothers as a gesture of goodwill from the Order. These Inquisition heretics think themselves above the laws of the Maker.”

“We act on the authority of Divine Justinia’s writ,” Cassandra snarled back, “And right now we are the only ones who seem to be concerned with sealing the breach.”

“And who is to blame for that? You’ve no one to blame but your own Herald for bringing these demons down on our heads!”

“There is no definitive proof of Cullen’s role in this. Until such a time as we can say, his life belongs to the Inquisition. He has dedicated himself to closing the breach, which is more than I can say for the templars or the mages.”

It’s not quite the glowing defense of his character he might hope for, but at least Cassandra seemed to be somewhat on his side.

“Temper, temper Seeker. Whether or not he did it, I don’t really care,” a few shocked gasps rose up from his soldiers, but Samson pointedly ignored them, “Whether we die by demons, or mages, or the sword, it’s all the same. We’ve got orders to follow, and they don’t include you. Not yet anyways.”

“So you don’t care what happens to the world then? You would sit back and watch it get swallowed up by demons when you could do something to stop it?”

“Pretty much. It’s not like it’s going to change our day to day life whether it’s raining green or not. ” Samson chuckled, and a strange look crossed his face. ”What was it I said that time? Right. There will always be a leash, always orders, doesn’t matter where you go. Still true I think.”

Something tickled at the back of his mind, a flicker of memory that he couldn’t quite grasp. Samson is looking at him, an eyebrow cocked in expectation; Cullen had no idea what he wanted.

“There doesn’t have to be,” he answered, ”Perhaps my fate seems to have been decided, but there are others from the Order who … have … why are you laughing?”

Samson was, in fact, holding his sides and snickering. The gathered templars looked between each other in open confusion. Varric muttered something under his breath that Cullen couldn’t quite catch, while Cassandra, predictably, made a sound of disgust.

“Ah, let me guess Rutherford. I was a good man once, yeah? I’d be welcome if I had a mind help people instead of slaughter them? Sound about right?”

Again, something struggled to surface from his memory. His words sounded familiar, but they couldn’t have had this conversation before; It’s been months since they last crossed paths. Still, the echo of sentiment behind his response couldn’t be ignored.

“You would be welcome. All of you. This endless fighting is not the purpose of the Templar Order. The Inquisition seeks to end these pointless hostilities, to protect Thedas from-”

“Thedas deserves what it gets, Cullen,” Samson scoffed, “What has it ever done for itself other than shit the bed and wallow in it?”

Cullen made a face.

“What you said before, about being a good man and helping people, I do believe that, no matter how amusing you find it. There was a man I knew once who risked everything for those in need. The Inquisition wants to close the breach, but we can’t do it alone. We need-”

Samson’s hand settled on his shoulder, a familiar weight. “I know what you want Rutherford, but I am not going to be the one to provide it. The templars are walking a different path now, and I must do my best to see they get looked after.”

A different path. Was it that hopeless to try and follow? “What makes you think it will be any different than before?”

“Oh, it won’t. I have no delusions that we aren’t just trading one yoke for another. But I have to watch after them, because no one else will.” Samson leaned in closer and whispered his next words. “They are going to try and arrest you when you enter the city, no matter what your letters say. Not everyone was taken in by the Lord Seeker’s demands. You should turn back.”

Of course. Cullen’s not sure why he thought anything should start going smoothly now after all that had happened. Still, the fact that Samson was telling him this at all was surprising; he’s not sure whether to be grateful or suspicious of his motivations.

“Why are you telling me this?” he asked cautiously.

“Believe me or not, ‘s no skin off my nose. Just be careful walking into the viper nest, always snakes underfoot.” Samson chuckled and pulled away. “No hard feelings, ya?”

There was something off about this entire exchange but for the life of him Cullen could not put his finger on what it was. So he nodded and even managed a smile despite the sinking feeling in his gut.

“No hard feelings.”

Samson slapped his hand against Cullen’s arm and grinned widely before turning back to his remaining templars.

“All right you lot, we’re moving out. Double time now, we’ve already wasted enough of the day and I don't want to hear any more of your bleeding heart complaning!”

“SER!” a chorus rang out in response and just like that they were on the move again. Cullen was not oblivious to the dirty looks many of the templars sent him, hooded eyes under helms that seemed to tear into him. Samson spared him one last look over his shoulder before leading his men forward into the Orlesian countryside.

“Well that was certainly dramatic,” Varric broke the silence after the last of the templars disappeared from view, “So what did he have to say to you, Curly?”

Cullen sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Samson claims they are waiting to arrest me inside the city.”

“Impossible!” Cassandra shouted indignantly, “We have been promised sanctuary within the city to speak with the clerics. I have Mother Giselle’s letters right here.”

“Well I guess there are three possible solutions here. Either Samson is lying, Mother Giselle is lying, or her Chantry contacts are lying,” Varric said, scratching his chin, “Or maybe it's a combination of all those things. This day just keeps getting better and better.”

The dwarf was not wrong; someone had to have lied to them. His gut instinct told him that it was not Samson. The other man had no reason to offer him this information, and in fact every reason to hinder them; the Inquisition was clearly no friend to the Order at the moment. It was also difficult to think that Mother Giselle would deceive them either, it did not seem to be in her character. Would the Chantry then stoop to outright lies in their pursuit of so called justice?

“Well I suppose there is only one way we can find out,” Cullen said with resignation, “We must press forward.”

Varric raised an eyebrow. “Serious?”

“He is right. The Inquisition must make headway with the Chantry if we are to bring allies to our cause, and running now will make it that much more difficult.”

“And what if the tin can was telling the truth and they try to arrest Curly? A Herald of Andraste isn't that useful behind bars. Or worse.”

Varric had a valid point, but Cullen could not walk away regardless of consequence. Not only did he have a duty to the Inquisition, but he also had something of a morbid curiosity to find out just who was telling the truth here. Who could they trust?

As they entered the city it struck him that he should listen to his gut and Varric more often.

The main square beyond the gate was suspiciously empty for what should have been a bustling capital city. Instead they found a group of heavily armed royal guardsmen. Among them were several templars as well, supposedly those who would not abide the Lord Seeker's call. The soldiers were headed by several Chantry Mothers and, to their collective irritation, Chancellor Roderick. Cullen could tell by the look on Varric’s face that he was going to be hearing a lot of ‘I told you so’ in the near future.

“What is the meaning of this?” Cassandra bellowed as Roderick approached, “We have come with the promise of safety and peaceful negotiation, and you offer us a show of force?”

Roderick sneered at her words. “Those promises were not given with the full authority of the Chantry. The words of a few misguided Mothers are not law, Seeker Pentaghast, and we are under no obligation to honour them.”

“And you would use those words of peace to lure us into this trap? Despicable, even for you Roderick. The Divine would never have allowed-”

“Justinia is gone Cassandra, how many times must we go through this, and I cannot believe her most holy would ever have sided with this blasphemy you now seek to spread.”

One of the Mothers came to Roderick’s side, a stern looking woman in her middle years. “The Chancellor speaks true,” she said, folding her arms over the front of her robes, “We will not abide the spread of lies by heathens who shelter the Divine’s killer.”

Cullen felt a muscle twitch under his eye, but said nothing.

“I am Revered Mother Hevara,” she spoke with a heavy Orlesian accent, “And it is my duty to inform you that the good people of Val Royeaux and the will of the Chantry can not suffer your freedom any longer. You, who have taken away the beautiful heart of our Divine with your treachery, are a false profit! A servant to your own selfish needs.”

“We have come in peace, only to talk, and this is what you do?” Cullen replied, careful to keep his hands away from his sword and to look as non threatening as possible. “Please, let us sit down together, to deal with the real threat to Thedas.”

“It’s true! The Inquisition seeks only to end this madness before it is too late.”

“It is already too late,” Hevara snarled, “Look at what you have done. Sheltering the man who murdered the Divine and so many faithful, raising him up as some sort of puppet for your blasphemous movement.”

“Divine Justinia would be mortified to see what you have done in her name, Seeker,” Roderick added scornfully, “And if you have any sense of goodwill to those you have destroyed through your betrayal Rutherford, you will turn yourself over peacefully.”

Cullen glanced at the gathered soldiers. It was difficult to tell their number, but there was no way he and his two companions would be able to stand against so many.

“You will not even hear us out then?” he asked, frustration creeping into his tone, “I am the only one who can close these rifts. You do not consider the threat of the breach to be greater than my miserable life?”

Hevara narrowed her eyes. “I can think of no greater threat than a man who has taken away the only hope Thedas ever had to peace.”

“What will it be, Rutherford?” the Chancellor demanded, “Will you surrender yourself for trial or must we take you by force?”

So that was it then? They would not listen to reason, or anything they had to say for that matter. Perhaps he should have taken Samson’s advice and turned around after all. Cullen sighed, feeling a familiar headache begin to prick at the back of his skull.

“If I surrender myself -”

“Cullen, no!” Cassandra grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him back to face her, “You cannot give in to them. We’ll go back to Haven and come up with another plan.”

“And how do you propose we go? Shall we outrun all of these soldiers? Or simply fight them all with only the three of us?”

“Do not sass me Cullen Rutherford! And do not forget that your life belongs to the Inquisition. I cannot let you go until I have determined your innocence for myself!”

“Seeker’s right, Curly,” Varric chimed in, “We’ve been in much worse situations than this before. Oh, and also I feel like I need to say this before we go any further, but I believe an ‘I told you so’ is appropriate right now.”

Cullen fought against the twitch of his lip. “Yes, Varric. You did tell me so.”

Looking to each of them, he nods with finality. He shuffled out of Cassandra’s grip, looking back toward Roderick and Hevara. “You will let them leave the city, unharmed.”

“Curly -”

“Cullen do not -”

“You let them leave,” he raised his voice, holding up his hands to silence their protests, “And I would have your word as members of the Chantry that no harm comes to them. I will surrender myself to you if you agree to my terms.”

Cassandra and Varric were both fuming, shouting at him to stop being so foolish and stubborn, but he did his best to ignore them. This was the best course of action. They should not have come here, he knew that now, but he would do his damnedest to see that his allies were safe.

The Revered Mother and the Chancellor exchanged a look; Roderick nodded, though he did not look pleased.

“Very well, we will accept your condition False Prophet, in the interest of a peaceful resolution. The Seeker and the dwarf must immediately leave Val Royeaux and will remain unmolested by our forces.”

“Curly you can’t do this, they’re going to execute you,” Varric shouted, “We can try something else, just -”

It was Cassandra that grabbed Varric by the shoulder, pulling him backwards. She looked somewhat pale, a tight grimace pulling at her lips. “We cannot outrun all of these soldiers. Nor will it help our cause to fight in the streets of Val Royeaux. As much as I do not like this, it seems we must withdraw for now.”

The dwarf looked completely thunderstruck. “Seeker you can’t be serious! We can’t leave him here, he’ll die.”

“And what would you have me do, Varric? As much as I am loathe to admit it, Cullen is _right_. Fighting them will only hurt our cause. We will return to the camps and send word back to Haven immediately. Josephine and Leliana may have some idea on how to set this right.”

Cullen is shocked. Of all people he would have expected Cassandra to fight him to the end on this. The look of grim resignation on her face as she forcefully pulled Varric away gave him a chill.

“Keep yourself alive until we come up with a plan,” she said stiffly, pulling Varric toward the gate, “Remember that I have not yet decided your guilt.”

“Ser Barris!” Hevara called out to the assembled group, “Take this man into custody immediately!”

One of the templars in the crowd stepped forward, a young man with dark skin and an angry look about his face. Two other templars fall in behind him, helmets obscuring their faces.

“Drop your weapons in front of you,” Barris demanded, “Nice and easy.”

Cullen complied without complaint. One of the other templars snatched up his things almost immediately. 

“You did not leave with Samson and the others?” he asked without really thinking about it first. He was curious as to why these templars had defied the Lord Seeker’s summons. Barris looked surprised by the question, his brow furrowing almost comically.

“Do not speak to me, heathen,” the young man snapped back, “Those loyal to the sacred duties of the Order have no need to explain themselves to the likes of you.”

_Ah, explanation enough_ , Cullen thought to himself. If there were templars here who rejected the fighting as well, perhaps there was hope they could be reasoned with. He kept his mouth shut as Barris pushed him forward, the sound of Varric and Cassandra still arguing following him further into the city. He could only hope that the others would find some way to bargain with the Chantry or Val Royeaux itself for his freedom before it was too late.

Varric was certainly right about one thing; he would likely be hanged without intervention, if he even made it to a trial of course.

“You have made the correct choice for once, Rutherford,” Roderick sneered as he moved past him, “You should make it easy on yourself and your foolish comrades and just admit to your villainy. The sooner we put you to ground the sooner the world can move through it’s grief.”

“I cannot confess to a crime I have no memory of, Chancellor.”

The look of absolute glee on the older man’s face was enough to turn his stomach.

“We shall see about that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are going off the rails now. The rails are in a ditch somewhere I think.


End file.
